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Show 514 Brian l i t a c i g a r e t t e and resumed pacing. "I'm so frustrated I could k i l l somebody. I'd l i k e to do i t , too. starting with Nixon." I jumped up and grabbed his arm. "What a thing to say! Can't you see t h a t ' s what's wrong here - k i l l i n g for some idea, some far-out notion of what's right? Maybe those students didn't ask for i t , but some of the more radical organizations have been - they' re just as ready to k i ll for what they believe as the government has been to send people to Vietnam!" "Yeh, well, i t ' s about time we s t a r t e d shooting back. Killing unarmed students - t h a t ' s too much." "Brian, i t wouldn't matter which side you were on. I t 's the killing t h a t ' s wrong." "Oh, yeh?" Again h i s voice taunted. "Something I learned over there i s that sometimes you g o t t a k i l l to have some peace. If you don't get rid of that sniper in the bushes, then nobody can do anything." I couldn't argue with h i s logic. I shook my head and retreated to the t i n y kitchen to get him a coke, but the last bottle was empty, his friends having finished if off the night before. Each night I emptied ashtrays and threw away beer cans and wine b o t t l e s so t h a t our daughter, Becky, wouldn't see them next morning. She was now old enough to ask l i t t l e questions, i r r e f u t a b l e reminders of the scruffy iife we were making for her - so out of joint with my mother's environment. I couldn't endure the thought of her mentioning cigarettes or beer or tatoos to my mother. |