Starbucks

 I've never seen so many guns in Starbucks.  The tables are crowded with soldiers in uniform at their computers attempting internet usage on an over loaded server.

I'm in the middle of a desert living days like swaths of white fabric in a factory, each day another piece is manufactored, it is brand new, but looks the same, feels the same. 

Time is confusing living here in the windowless large tent I share with twenty female soldiers. The flourescent lights come on sometime between 5 am and 6 am, but for a 4:30 am morning bathroom break, walking to the door requires a flashlight. That is until I open the door and let the light in into my eyeballs and on my skin. I'm instantly as dry as the dust under my feet. I reach for my sunglasses, but realize that I have left them on the bed. So I head out, squinting to the porta potties.

Later, I walk to the airfield. I walk from office to office, watch a few aircrafts roll by. 

I eat lunch at taco bell with some flies and the take cover in my tent during the heat of the day.