Eric Castro

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But we lost the sun in the San Francisco mists. We were at the waterfront and surrounded by the brown hills of Berkeley. The great curving bay, like a watery amphitheater, was before us. There were seals playing in the bay. I was only twenty-one. I could see the Golden Gate, and out beyond lay the Thing that I would see.
Helmet for My Pillow: From Parris Island to the Pacific
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