“Please. No. You haven’t seen all of them yet.”
Says the former soldier, boyish and lean even at 50, even after the Afghanis blew him up. The government rebuilt his hip and his ass. Also, the poison used by one side or the other gave him “a small case of cancer” in both of his lungs.
He keeps a cooler of beer by his bed in case he wakes up in the night. The more he drinks the more his Irish accent comes out. He doesn’t want anyone to touch him, not in the bar, not until he’s made up his mind it’s completely all right.
Then this grinning horny kid comes along, ready to go home with him, touches the side of his face and says, “I love scars!”