"Hey!" Prescott called out to the other cell. "Wake up! I've gotta ask you something!"
The other prisoner stopped snoring. "Shut up," he moaned. "My head hurts. God, that was some foul booze! I'll never drink home brew again."
"Listen up! I need to know a few things. Like, what's going on?"
The prisoner sat up, groaned and rubbed his neck. He was wearing a wrinkled infantryman's uniform. "What the hell are you talking about?" He spoke with a slight slur.
"You know, our country. Are we at war?"
The prisoner scratched his unshaven chin and made an effort to focus his eyesight on Prescott. With his bronze skin, sharp nose and high cheekbones he resembled a Native American. "Whaddya mean, 'at war'? We're always at war with someone or something. It's America's Manifest Destiny to fight the good fight!"
If the soldier was attempting sarcasm, it went right over Prescott's head.
"Is the Cold War still going on?""What, there's a cold one now?"
(From THE TIME IDIOT)