At the small southern college where I taught in the 1970s, one of the grad students had flown a chopper in Vietnam. Instead of living on campus, he rented a cottage in the woods. He slept there alone, with a Colt .45 under his pillow.
He played me tapes of fire-fights in which friends had died. Out of the jabber and roar of bad recording, he teased monologues that were poisoned with the essence of terror and despair.
There's a song on My Morning Jacket's sixth studio album, Circuital, that will probably make aging rockers smile. It's called "Outta My System," and in it, songwriter Jim James sings with great Buddha warmth about aging out of the Friday-night indulgences of youth.