You're Never Too Old to Die
When Bill King came back from the war in Afghanistan, danger followed him all the way to San Francisco. You could say I live an exciting life. I would rather watch it on television. My name is Bill King. A month after I moved to California I was sitting in a bar in San Francisco’s Mission District. At about 9:00 I decided to go back to the apartment of the friend I was staying with. When I left the bar I heard a man yelling obscene insults at two Hispanic women who had just left a restaurant. My parents raised me not to be that way. I thought he should not be that way either. I walked over to talk to him. “Why are you yelling at those women?” I asked. “They’re Mexican.” “So?” “This is our country. They don’t belong here.” By now I could tell that he was harmless, possibly homeless, drunk, and twice my age. “Everyone in this country who is not an Indian came from somewhere else, or their ancestors did.” I said. “Where did you come from?” “I’m Portuguese,” he admitted....