The Kuto’s life was filled with dejection. He had been in Viet Nam for years, and the war had taken its toll on him. His hair was rusted red, and his face was shaved. He wore a aviator gold sunglasses, and he had a diamond earring in his left ear. He wore a purple hoodie, and he carried a backpack full of supplies.

He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and his hair was starting to dreadlock. His clothes were filthy, and he smelled bad. He hadn’t bathed in days, and he knew he looked terrible. But he didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was surviving another day.

He had seen too much death, too much destruction. He had killed too many people, both enemies and friends alike. And now all he wanted to do was just stay alive long enough to see the end of the war – even if it meant dying himself in the process