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	<title>Two Hawks Quarterly &#187; veterans</title>
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	<description>A Literary Uprising</description>
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		<title>Sniper-Man! Sniper-Man! Does Whatever a Sniper Can by April Fitzsimmons, Sgt. USAF (1985-1989)</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/22/sniper-man-sniper-man-does-whatever-a-sniper-can-by-april-fitzsimmons-sgt-usaf-1985-1989/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/22/sniper-man-sniper-man-does-whatever-a-sniper-can-by-april-fitzsimmons-sgt-usaf-1985-1989/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 22 May 2008 01:00:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Creative Non-Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amtrak]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[April Fitzsimmons]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Coast Starlight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Gulf War Marine]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Homeland Security]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Iraq]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Iraq veteran]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Osama Bin Laden]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sniper]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sniperman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[soldier]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Literary Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Quarterly]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[veterans]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[ LOS ANGELES, CA &#8211; “I was a sniper,” he said. “But you’re out now?” “Yeah. I did six years but I’ll probably re-enlist.” “Why?” I asked. “He’s got kids,” Galley-man hollered from his post. I was charging my lap-top down in the galley and at the next stop in Chico, Sniper-man got off to smoke and Galley-man told me he’d cut off Sniper-man’s booze at 3am after he and another Iraq Vet drank most of Amtrak’s mini-bar. The train rolled on and I looked out the window. A hawk dive-bombed to snag something in a strawberry field and folks stood along the roads waving to us. The train honked to make sure everyone knew we were coming through town as the Coast Starlight ambled south, yielding to every single freight train; product first, people second. “Same mom?” Galley-man, a Gulf War Marine, asked after the passengers all-a-boarded.  “Nope,” said Sniper-man. “Dang,” said Galley-man “See boy’s got to work, he’s got two alimonies and needs health insurance for those kids. You best re-enlist boy.” “Yeah, I know, I’m thinkin’ bout it?” “What do you think? Should we be over there?” I asked Sniper-man. “No.” “Do you think Osama Bin Laden is [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Johnny by Loretta Williams</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/20/johnny/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/20/johnny/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 20 May 2008 09:01:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Genre X]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Antioch University]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[aulapress]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[marines]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[PTSD]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Literary Journal]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Two Hawks Quarterly]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vermont]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[veterans]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vietnam]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[war]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[This is not a story anyone wants to hear, so I&#8217;ll give it to you slow. You let me know when you&#8217;ve heard enough. My cousin Johnny wasn&#8217;t really my cousin. He was the stepson of my aunt, my mother&#8217;s older sister who had had a bad first marriage and rather than marry again, decided she&#8217;d be unfashionable for the 1950&#8217;s and live without license in a Sunbeam singlewide with a widower she met at the VFW hall in town. John Senior was a gruff, beefy man and father to a sweet beefy teenage boy when he and my aunt moved in together. My mother was miffed at her sister&#8217;s living arrangement and for about a year our trips to her home town were carefully arranged to avoid John Senior and Junior but then my mother thawed and Johnny became part of the circle of cousins that flowed in and out of my grandparents house during our visits. Before they moved in with my aunt John Senior and Junior lived by a bare-bones routine. Eggs for breakfast, Dinty Moore Stew for lunch, burgers for dinner. They both dressed the same way, white T-shirt, blue jeans, black boots. When Johnny wanted [...]]]></description>
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