[hr][hr][center][h1][color=662d91]Alexander Polawski[/color][/h1]
[img]http://cdn.wegotthiscovered.com/wp-content/uploads/robertdenirothefamily.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b] North Of Newnan (Veterans Memorial Park - Corner of Temple Ave. & Jackson St.) [/center][hr][hr]

The old man didn't pay attention to the two women entering their beloved armoured combat vehicle, simply holding onto that faded picture and rosary as he continued to silently speak. What the words he spoke inside his mind exactly were, was irrelevant, seen as neither of them cared. And for that matter, Alexander was doubting whether anyone cared anymore. There simply weren't anyone left; his friends died in Florida, Saigon and in nameless patches of jungle; his wife long ago...so who was there left? 

As the tank roared to life, he kept his eyes closed, even for the loud engine noise it made. The soldier simply put away the picture he had held, and let that hand grab onto something while the tank began to move backwards...well forwards, but to him it felt backwards. Like so much more around him...

The snow piling up on and around him though was enough to open his eyes, as a cold shiver shot down his spine and snuck down his shirt. Great, and here he was starting to warm up. And for some reason, he swore he could hear the sound of singing from down in the tank. Now he could be wrong, but it did make him think...

[color=662d91]"...In restless dreams I've walked alone. Narrow streets of cobblestone. 'neath the halo of a street lamp. I turned my collar to the cold and damp. When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light, that split night, and touched the sounds of silence..."[/color]

If she could sing, then he sure as hell was going to sing what he wanted. Not loud of course, but to himself. Yeah, he was a crazy old man.