He had been working as a security guard at the port. He hated it. He was close to killing himself because he didn't understand life back in the States, preferred moving in the darkness out where you had to machete your way through the mosquitoes and the only friendlies were Hmong and beardy Green Berets who'd half gone native. No, America didn't fit him anymore. Where most guys had nightmares about Nam, he had nightmares about the United States. One of the rare times he talked to me for more than five minutes, he told me he dreamed about having to walk across open places with a tight suit on and everybody looking at him from every window and he couldn't hide anywhere. He'd wake up in a cold sweat dreaming about being drunk in a house full of children, reeling from room to room with tiny children in his way, knowing it was only a matter of time before he hurt one of them and then he'd go to the electric chair. He had Nam dreams, too, but they didn't bother him like that. He woke up from dreams about burning hootches and covering himself in mud to wait in ambush and then he's wake up and get sad when he realized he was just in his shitty apartment and he had to go out and talk to people he wasn't allowed to punch. He actually spotted Margaret while she was hunting, followed her, kept up with her. That she was able to climb on the sides of buildings didn't surprise him much after the shit he had seen. She didn't even know she had grown a tail. For a while. When she realized a warm body had actually gotten the drop on her, she was intrigued. They sat by the water and talked. She gave him a choice. He took the one that sounded the most like being back in-countru.
--- THE LESSER DEAD by Christopher Buehlman, pgs 90-91, last and first paragraph
This is the last paragraph I read.