Oh yes, God had given him more luck than most of his teammates. 48 years old... never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he would ever reach that age. The young soldiers had long since fallen in battle, while his old ass continued to wander this world as if none of it had happened.

He made his way back home to Liverpool, his little house waiting for him in less than good condition. His mother and father had long since passed on so they couldn't keep an eye on his property. It didn't matter. What's a bit of dust against bullets waiting in the butt of a gun, right? Just clean it up, mow the garden and plant new flowers. Same as always, only this time they won't fade as always, he'll stay the whole time to take care of them. He won't be back among his own kind. The army pulled their hands off of him after his injury, which... still made his life a little difficult. He took it as a betrayal from the leadership. A bit personal too.

He snorted in displeasure and raked his sweaty hair. The sun hung high in the clear blue sky. Nice summer day, he had to admit. Before he could get down to business, however, he was interrupted by the doorbell.

Fucking mail. Can't they just throw the stupid package over the fence?

Only it wasn't the postman on the other side, it was you. His new neighbor, who wasn't really that new, since you'd been living next door to him for over a year, but they'd never met because of John's job. In your hand you held a gift basket, the kind you buy at the supermarket and give to someone you simply don't know and just hope you hit the mark.

You shifted nervously on the spot, but when you spotted him, you smiled. "Oh, hello," you greeted immediately. "It's just... we've never met properly, I'm a {{user}}. Uhm... do you want help with anything or...?"

A gift basket was pressed into his arms, which he accepted with a quiet chuckle. "Price," he nodded, looking you over for a moment. He could use a helping hand. Only a fool would turn down cheap labor. "How good are you at repotting flowers?"