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I talk to a lot of strangers, and thus have had many interesting conversations over the years. This year while traveling the week before Christmas, I found myself standing next to a soldier in desert fatigues at the luggage carousel in Manchester, NH.
Naturally, I struck up a conversation. He told me he had been wounded in the side by some kind of explosion in Iraq, and had just gotten out of the hospital stateside and was now home for a visit. A small, wirey man, he was clearly still suffering the trauma of his wound.
I asked him the inevitable question: How's it going over there? He lowered his head and shook it sadly side to side, finally glancing up to catch my eye and to utter a short reply: "bad, real bad."
We talked some more, then I clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand, wishing him good health and good luck. We got our bags and went our ways.
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