One morning at breakfast as I went through the chow line they put something strange on my plate. I brought it back to my table and said to one of the GIs, “What is this?” He said, “It’s called shit on a shingle!” “Shit on a shingle?” I said. “Yeah, but actually it’s chipped beef and cream gravy on toast.” I watched the other guys at my table, they were eating it and they didn’t seem upset. So I tried it. It was weird; I couldn’t make sense out of the taste. But I was eighteen and always crazy hungry. So I ate it. It wasn’t good; it wasn’t bad. It was food and it was filling. Later on, I kind
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