Chapter Ten
At 28 years old, I started over. I joined the army. I went to basic training at Ft. Jackson. I loved still being in South Carolina because it was home. My cousin had prepared me for the basic training bullshit, so I was not shocked when I got off the bus and men in uniform with round brim hats were yelling in my face. The yelling, constant pushups, and getting up early didn’t faze me at all. I was older than all the other recruits in my class and after 10 weeks of their teenage bullshit, crying, whining and bitching, I was ready to move on. Millennials make me sick.
My next training station was in San Antonio, Texas. I finally had some freedom. No more basic training constraints. My focus immediately returned to hitting the club and chasing chicks. I misrepresented myself. I
