Leonard Watermelon was lingering. He was there and he was not there. He was alive and he was dying. He could smell the sterile antiseptic cloths covering his face but could not feel them. An ever so slight faint taste of taste beer passed randomly and momentarily though his very shaky awareness of the world around him leading his thoughts into a full blown memory of an argument he had been having about the stupidity of Americans and of their lack of common sense; when suddenly he heard echoing voices yelling, “Clear, clear, clear!” A sensation of warm piss running down his leg and the tingling of a million bee stings jolted him back into a world of silence and darkness. The stinging slowly subsided and when he opened his eyes he found himself as a young man standing on the front porch of an old general store that he quickly recognized from his youth. He had rented the apartment above the store for a resting place while on a trek into the Smokey Mountains with Virginia. Vagina Virginia he called her to her amusement because she carried a copy of the Vagina Monologues with her everywhere she went. Yeah, it was north of Chancellorsville and it was fall. Looking up into the colored leaves of crimson oaks and yellow maples alive in painted fall colors he wondered without saying; is this heaven? Virginia sat on a porch swing just feet away swaying on a carved oak bench attached to porch rafters above by a silver rusty chain of dubious quality. “ Penny for your thoughts solider boy?” she asked. “ Be careful!” he cautioned her. Yet before she could reply she went crashing to the porch deck. “ Clear,” and a thousand tingles overwhelmed him all over again.