Crooked

Every man in my platoon complains of some level of back pain. We spend a lot of our time with between 30 and 60 lbs of extra weight wrapped around us. While our body armor protects us from bullets and shrapnel, we’re all going to leave here with spines shaped like Allen wrenches. Uncle Sam better have a team of chiropractors staged and ready for our return home. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking like I ought to be swinging from a bell tower or something.