Went back to Dixie and ended up with a pretty depressing encounter. There are parts of the American South where if you grow up into a man there are three ways your life is probably going: Work, Jail, Army. We had a family friend I knew growing up that fought in Afghanistan, took his pension, and later told ol' Uncle Sam to go fuck himself. Welp, turns out in the 5 years I haven't seen him, he's put on enough to be pretty close to landwhale status. IDK if it was the PTSD, his knees finally going irredeemable, the bottle, or a mix of the lot but it is wild to see someone you knew as the tough soldier in that kind of state. Far as my folks are concerned the consensus is they hope he gets himself back together but between the pounds and the smokes...