“P, I heard that guy singing about Rosemary today and I thought, oh no!” the soldier said. “That guy must have met P. He knows, P and now he’s singing about her.”
“What, Rosemary?”
“Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he sang. “I heard that and just knew he must have met ya, P? I wonder why, P, told that guy her name was, Rosemary. I don’t remember P going by Rosemary. That poor bastard.”
“Poor bastard?”
“Yep, because P left him and there he is singin’ about her and I’m sure she doesn’t even remember him…”