I had found the book months ago, but I'd yet to crack open the yellow-tinged pages of it in order to read the information inside. It had been like a Christmas gift from a morbid donor, some hint at what my future days might hold in terms of ambition and drive. And no, this is not my war memoir, but rather my true passion before me. I've started the
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"What's it about, Web?" He asked.
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Upon seeing the look of horror on Webster's face, he sniggered. "Jus' kiddin' with ya, Web. Why would Liebgott be followin' me 'round?" He shook his head, trying to follow the arch of the movie a little more.
"What sorta shark movie? Don't look like a documentation t'ah me."
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"Any special reason ya watchin' this?" He asked, the question more of a mumble.
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"Ya swim with sharks? Webster, I knew ya were a little not all there, but swimmin' with fuckin' sharks? Ya been drinkin' a little much the past few weeks?"
During the last few years, he'd seen crazy stuff happening-- people shooting themselves in the foot to get taken off the lines, taking their shoes off to get trench-foot on purpose, shooting other people because they'd thought they were the enemy, but this?
This was even crazier than all of that stuff combined.
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Just why would anybody wanna go swim with creatures that could bite ya in half?
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"What if one day, all goes wrong? What they eat ya?" He asked, his eyebrow still raised. "An' whaddya mean ya been studyin' them for sixteen years? Ya didn't even have time t'ah do that the last two years!
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Thinking back on the first jump he'd made, and the last one, into Holland, he sighed. "An' here I'd been thinkin' all o' us had enough o' doin' dangerous, stupid stuff."
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After a long pause, he asked, "Did the bookshelf tell ya anythin' 'bout the future of us guys?"
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