The war had been over for about three months. For me, that meant trading the pot-marked and bloodstained fields of France for the no less unsanitary streets of Los Angeles - my home. I was fortunate enough to have been on sick leave during the deployment of my company to Japan on account of a shrapnel wound courtesy of the panzer division I came across a few miles away from Berlin. “It’s on the house. But what do you mean about…” Before I could even finish he interrupted with the same monotone as before. “And your greatest failure?” “Sorry?” “What about you, padre, what’s your greatest failure?”