He was late for the Currahe run, and he knew he'd probably get put on toilet duty because of it. For whatever reason, he wasn't worried; he was new anyway, it wasn't like they'd berate him [i]too[/i] bad for one little mishap, would they? Probably. He had resigned himself to his fate and instead dressed in his PT garb to give the impression he had made an attempt to make it to PT. Come mess hall time, he was one of the first in line and he hoped his punctuality here would disguise his tardiness elsewhere--even if he was the most distinguishable face in the regiment.
	
	He got his slop, no, it wasn't slop this time. It was spaghetti! Yes, did he love himself some saucenoodle. His plastic spork shoveled torrents of noddles an round ground meat into his gullet followed by several rythmatic swallows. Since this wasn't a large company like the 366th Infantry from which he came, he had no choice but to sit by the others: three women, a Spanish looking cat, a yellowman, and some other indiscriminate pasty white folk. They all looked the same to him. But it didn't matter, he continued gorging the spaghetti without a second recognition of the others with whom he sat. He did eavesdrop on their conversation, though. It sounded like it all had something to do with fighting on the North African front? He'd never been to Africa before, [i]be good to see some'a my kind in our own habitat for once[/i] he mused in solidarity.
	
	He still didn't know why he'd been sent here, though. He didn't ask questions, it was never his right. It was a sordid mentality drilled in him by his own country more than anything the army had ever taught him. For how uncomfortable he felt, what with being the only black face around, it was sure nice to see some different looking people. He got tired of seeing the same grizzled, distraught grimmaces his all black company had on their faces all the time. Peckerwood this, peckerwood that. Walter thought they all needed a break, they all needed to find them one of those nice German girls with African warrior fetishes--that'd cheer them up right good.
	
	He had finished eating, and his blue-green eyes shifted from his plate to the cast of characters seated around him; he didn't say much, back home you didn't speak to a white person unless spoken to, that was the rule. He didn't know if it was any different here, so he waited to see if anyone would bother to initiate.