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Life Away With The National Guard

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I awoke at five-forty-three in the morning. I wait for my neglected iPod to charge on my laptop USB connection then I 'll bike along the river bluff to the National Guard Recruiting Station. If there is a God, my enlistment bonus check will be waiting there for me this afternoon. I’d spent the past month debating whether to take a ten thousand dollar pay off and sign the next three years of my life away with the prestigious Minnesota National Guard. I’d have thought I know better after my “try one” year enlistment and my ensuing eighteen month deployment to Kosovo. Fuck it, I figure I 'll do it. Sign-up. I owe the government two thousand. I owe the University three thousand. I have an additional thirteen thousand owed in student loans. I can work at McDonald 's for the next ten years and most likely be forty before I obtain my BA or I can sell my Jihadi soul to Uncle Sam 's freedom train for three to six years. It could be worse, I thought, at least I have an option. I fumble with my phone as I walk now in the late morning sun toward the Recruiter’s Office. I hate text messages, but I find myself fondling the keyboard of my stock Nokia whenever I 'm bored or drunk. Texting 's never really, I feel, a coffee drinker 's preferred mode of communication—coffee beckons the intimacy of comfortable couches, clanging saucers and second-hand smoke. I dropped my phone in Denver and the thing literally broke in half: the battery fell out like neatly prepackaged intestines of some

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