Deje vu. Isn’t that what they called this?

Deje vu. Isn’t that what they called this? This was a barely coherent thought. Liz stared at the display case, wondering why she was reacting like this to an old piece of jewelry.

It wasn't like it was any good. But somehow it activated some secret string in her brain, on which was written in gold: "July, 11, 1971". Memories began to unfold...

Morrocco. We had trained cadets to take over the king's palace

and as they stood in their ranks in the sun, each in his brilliant fez, I felt a surge of pride. And sadness, too, because I knew the mission was folly. If only we had

a clown car with GPS then we could totally find the Fish Fry in this local town and entertain the pants of these people which

would be a perfectly horrid scene even if we could pull it off. Enough was enough and I pulled into Long John Silver's to an absolute shitstorm of complaints. Everybody piled out

and then I explained, "this'll be a trial run. If we can get the money out of this Joint, "Wa's Imperial Palace" is doable". They looked at me doubtfully - but after I explained

my childhood weekends spent with my Dad usually ended Sunday after lunch when he fed me his signature Hotdog Soup. He'd boil & eat the dogs; I got to drink the juice. Sometimes, I

the real thing. But it was enough to take my mind away from the grim reality around me. As I sat eating in a room littered with corpses. I knew this was my last meal.