Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
The flower beds I had carefully planted with blue hydrangeas before my deployment were completely choked with crabgrass. The wooden porch railing had a long crack running down the center where the paint had peeled away, exposing the grey wood beneath. It was clear that nobody had done any maintenance here for months. He had neglected the entire property.
I picked up my seabag and walked toward the main road to find a cab.
I dragged my green seabag down Maggie Street to the gas station on the corner and called a local cab. The driver didn’t say a word as we drove past the familiar shrimp docks and the weathered sign for the naval air station, eventually pulling up to the Quality Inn off the highway.
I checked into a first-floor room that smelled of stale air conditioning and carpet cleaner. I left my bags on the luggage rack, washed the travel dust off my face, and walked the three blocks to the Golden Griddle.
