They were coming into battle dress uniform laz alonso

academic, listof u.s. army acronyms and expressions, laz alonso, jason london, james cooper (vi), james morrison (ii), arman zajic, critical preference, debi mazar, cheryl hines, 504boyz — ( moving things lyrics ), indies, usertalk:24.147.248.130, Sometimes, it was like sharing adventure stories. Sometimes it was like they were just shedding skin, so that they could move on in peace. I always "handled" it in a very factual manner; they were just details and facts about experiences and occurrences that really weren't filled with emotion. Or, at least, battle dress uniform once they were "shed," the experiences could be handled in that impersonal manner. My concern was with their attaining a calm state, a frame of mind where they could "leave all that shit behind". To the best of my recollection, most were able to attain battle dress uniform that. And I felt pretty good about that. In fact, I recall that most were thankful for my being there, to help them "fill out the forms" or "set things straight" in their minds about how to categorize their recent experiences and their current predicament. Another thing I recall, and I've thought about this often though I don't recollect that I gave it much deep thought at the time, is that there were "others" passing through, who didn't seem to require what I offered, or maybe didn't even see me.
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They were coming into the room to be "checked out" or "out-processed," just as one laz alonso might expect to do upon leaving military service. They were entering from one side of the room and heading out the other door. Except, fairly often, somebody would come over to me to find out "what was really going on." Some of the guys were worried; some were just going along with the trip, but wanted to know more. Many were concerned about not getting things finished, about having left a job undone. And laz alonso many were just concerned about needing to leave laz alonso messages for those they'd left behind. Night after night, the parade of nameless men came meandering through. And of the ones who stopped by my desk, each one needed something different. It was almost as if the mere passing through the room would rub off onto me their experiences of war. In a funny sense, it was like taking some of their burden, which I was glad to do.
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