Photo Source: Unsplash Harold shuffled into the living room with old Marine Corps cadences marching through his mind. The pads of his slippers brushed on the hardwood floor; scrapes echoed through his cold tomb of a home. He inhaled the stalwart scent of his steamy Columbian coffee—black. No sugar or cream like the youngsters use.   He hefted open the tired, sun-baked windows. Harold’s muscles strained, but he wasn’t losing that battle, not after the adversity he had been through in days...