Join the new world

It's a brisk morning in Washington, you know because you left your bedroom window open overnight in your twelfth story apartment. You shuffle to the bathroom, open your robe and aim for the shit stain you’ve been trying to remove for the last week and half with your stream without victory. Wash your hands and splash that water on your face that starts your day. As you put toothpaste on your brush, you hear the coffee pot brewing,

’Thank you, me, for prepping that last night’, you think to yourself.

After your morning hygiene you feed the dog, three scoops, not four, the vet said she was getting too fat. One of the downsides of living in an apartment is not having a yard, and by the time you get down the stairs with her, you don’t want to walk either. Grab a cup of coffee, light up a cigarette, and look out toward the hustle and bustle of 1st Street outside of your window.

“Politicians,” you say to the dog, “Not a single one of them are worth a damn. Yet… they get my tax dollars.”

The dog seems to agree.

You go back into your bedroom, put on your uniform, and lace up your boots, ensuring every patch is straight and buttons are buttoned. Time to get to work. Rushing out the door, you pet that good boy goodbye, and you head down the hallway and down the stairs. Around the fourth floor you realize that you left the window open again, but that's alright by you, it’s a nice day and that smokey old apartment could use some fresh air. It just turned spring, after all.



You get into your car, a 2014 Cadillac CTS, a nice car when you first bought it, but all of these trips back and forth to base have worn down its luxury. You light up another cigarette and hit the road. An hour to base later, you struggle to find a parking spot. You’re late, unlike any other day, so this doesn’t come as a surprise.

As you walk to your office, you’re being saluted by young soldiers, slightly annoyed that every twentieth step requires you to move your cigarette to your left hand. Customs and Courtesies don’t apply to you, so once you raised your sixth mid-morning salute you just tell them to carry on. After what felt like all ten-thousand of your steps for the day, you finally reach your office and sit down. The phone immediately rings, but you let it ring a few times before answering it, wiping the water out of your eyes from it being too damn early for this. You answer,



“Hello?”

“Is this Brigadier General Rowan?”

“This is he.”

“Do you have a personal phone number, sir?”

You are hesitant to answer these sort of questions, most of the time, but this morning you could care less and let the person have your cell phone number. He immediately hangs up. Just as immediate, your cell phone rings. You answer cautiously.

“Yes?”

The stranger replies,

”Sir. How I have a deal for you.”