He talked of the day his garrison was captured by government soldiers. It wasn’t with the somber and reflective tone so many who have lived through tragedy often take, it was almost as if he were telling a tall tale, something nobody could believe, but he had been there and he had seen all the cruelty and nihilistic depths of the human condition. They kept the men locked in the arms lockers for days on end, taking each out for questioning in periodic shifts. They would sit them under a small faucet and drip the water onto their heads as they asked the questions. Once the skin was puckered and soft from the stream they would cut slowly into that thin skullcap and peel it away from the head. At first it just felt like pressure, but once the skin dried the pain was unbearable. Everyone in his platoon talked, they sang, and when they were freed it was as if a legion of bald-headed clowns poured from the garrison, screaming mad and cackling at the ridiculous appearances of their brothers.