Menomena - TitheWhen Charles Ramsey stood again on native soil, he felt taller and stronger. Not even a patriot, just a citizen who belonged to the place that he occupied. He clutched his papers. One problem floated around in his head: what would he do now? Ramsey called it the war even though it was a few years past the end of it. There were things expected of him, as a soldier, as someone who had returned. He longed for instruction. In boot camp, whenever the sergeant had screamed at even the smallest mistake, like a misplaced bullet, or a lost grenade, Ramsey had thought: why don’t we have better instructions? Why aren’t there perfect instructions for every situation? The number of occasions during which he had thought this were innumerable. He longed for a perfect formula--the right word spoken at the right moment that would forgive all wrongs, or the joke that would defuse the tension, or the gesture that unfogs a mind.He walked into a pharmacy off Market Street and sat down hard on a stool, right up next to the counter so that his knees pressed into the underside. The soda kid over down the way was occupied with a customer, so he waited. An orphaned pen had curled up next to the cake stand, and he figured hey why not, and took it. He thought about what he had to do next, what would, naturally, follow from his Army experience, and he made a list so he could keep track of everything:1) Find a job2) Find a girl3) Have a baby4) Repeat babyHe settled on number two, since he didn’t have a knack for paperwork and jobs always required that. He ordered a chocolate soda, neat, and drank that down in one, two, three gulps while the soda kid watched in awe.[BUY Mines]