Then I flew to Rome and I drove down to Anzio.

There’s a ridge there and the sand is all piled up like a dune…

you know; it runs about 200 feet.

And last year it was covered with bikinis.

Bikinis, you know, cute little buckets…

sweating into the same sand that held all that blood.

Hell, I don’t want to talk about war. It’s the final joke.

It shouldn’t surprise you. Battlefields have a way of turning into resorts.
—Save the Tiger

‘Morning, all.