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He pressed it above his upper lip, and a moment later, it fell off. He reapplied it, but the moustache wouldn’t remain in place.“Shit, my moustache won’t stick to me because of my whiskers! What do we do?” He feared.“I don’t know!” Jenny cried.There was no time to do anything as the Ivory Coast border guard motioned Scott up next to him. “I thought we’d be stopped by the Ghanaian border guard not the Ivory Coast military first,” he complained.“Passeports s’il vous plaît,” “Passports please,” the guard asked, holding out his right hand. Scott inspected the AK 47 slung across his chest as he handed him their documents. Double magazines taped together, he noted about the weapon. The guard looked at Scott’s passport last. He gazed from the picture to Scott’s face and back to the passport picture. A second guard stood at the rear of the car, his finger poised over the trigger guard of his AK 47.“Pourquoi avez-vous rasez votre moustache,” he asked.Sula leaned left, touching Scott’s. There was some giggling."Cadet," Commandant Mackie said solicitously, "I would be greatly honored if you will join us for dinner." SIR, YES, SIR!" I replied at full volume. I liked to think my voice was at least alto, but it was most likely a mousey soprano."This isn't the parade deck, Cadet," Mackie reminded me. "Use a conversational tone. Keep the volume medium." SIR—"I began, then shifted volume, "yes, sir."The nice thing about being a Program participant is how rapidly one can be ready for an event. It's just a matter of wiping the face—no clothing to mess with. Since I was a cadet at Mackie, my hair was too short to mess up or mess with. Besides, Harmony helped me.The dinner table was a step up from the institutional folding tables in the Mackie mess hall. Heavy, dark-stained wood of some kind with a white table cloth. The wooden chairs had small towels on the seats—all four of us were naked.I described slender Harmony and stacked Miss Krystal. I was nothing much to look.
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