The Other Guy

Dexter stretched out, trying three or four increasingly awkward positions before he convinced himself there was no such thing as comfort in a chemical warfare suit. "Say Whizzer," he said finally, "you remember those old commercials about defensive driving — the ones that said 'Watch Out For The Other Guy?'"

"Yeah, they were rich. We know you're okay, but that sucker in the next lane, uh oh."

"Right," Dexter agreed. "What I could never figure out was, if the commercial is meant for all of us, then who the fuck is this Other Guy?"

"Hang it up, Dex. The Army don't need philosophers." The Whizzer fumbled in his pack for a cube of nicotine gum. Like a few thousand of his fellow desert troopers, he was rethinking his dependencies.

"The thing is, I think I finally know who the Other Guy is," Dexter went on.