Thanks to Flatbush Paul, I'm smoking Compton's Commonweal Mixture in a mid-1970s black rusticated straight Savinelli Estella 915 KS. Today being Veteran's Day, I thought I'd post this: I've known a lot of men who fought for this country over the years, none of whom considered themselves a hero. Some were wounded in combat, some nearly killed, and some I do indeed consider to be heroes, whether they would want that label applied to them or not. Whatever the war they were in, they did their duty, they came back home and returned to make their own way in the world. Some talked about their experiences, some have not. Most of those I knew are no longer with us. But their answer to the call of duty, their heroism, their sacrifices, their love of country, live in the spirit of those who knew them, and in the eternal spirit of the country whose uniform they proudly wore. Without them, there is no "us," no U.S., no future for we who presently live in their company, or we who survive the dead who fell in combat, or died after living their lives. We live ours because they have lived theirs. Whether their names live etched in the stone of monuments or the winding corridors of our collective consciousness, we bask in the hallowed light of their service so that we shall always be free of oppression, tyranny, and intolerance in the soul of freedom.