Yes, even us non-combatant Fobbit-types became welded to our weapons. They slept with us like cold metal lovers; they waited for us just outside the shower stall, ready to hand us a towel; they pulled up a chair and sat next to us in the chow hall; they clung to us like shadows. Some of us, slowly losing our minds in the sand and wind of Iraq even held long, lively conversations with our rifles.
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