In 1965, or so, I met a young lady on the train going to Boston. She was returning to college, and I was returning to my ship after a week’s leave. It was cold and drafty, so I offered her my peacoat. We sat together and talked for hours. I’d hoped to get in touch with her after a three-month-cruise, but her roomie told me she’d gone to a seedy hotel in the Combat Zone for an abortion, and bled out in an alleyway behind the dumpsters.
In 1965, or so, I met a young lady on the train going to Boston. She was returning to college, and I was returning to my ship after a week’s leave. It was cold and drafty, so I offered her my peacoat. We sat together and talked for hours. I’d hoped to get in touch with her after a three-month-cruise, but her roomie told me she’d gone to a seedy hotel in the Combat Zone for an abortion, and bled out in an alleyway behind the dumpsters.