A sweet, white-haired little old lady let me cut in front of her today on the busy, construction clogged road to work. Further down the road, as I moved into the turning lane, I ended up behind her car. First, I noticed her license plate reading that this was the car of a veteran. Then, I was drawn to the plaster of veteran bumper stickers. One in particular:
How is it that a little old lady could take pleasure in a firey bomb that destroys everything? Why didn't her "Atomic Veteran" sticker show the naked, burning flesh of the young girl made famous in Life magazine as she fled the explosion?