Three Decades of Pretending Come to an End in a Military Holding Cell

It was thirteen hundred hours on the dot.

The afternoon humidity sat on my shoulders like a heavy wool blanket.

The air was so thick I could hardly pull in a full breath.

Heat rose off the hot coals in waves you could see.

Glenn stood at the edge of the lawn, turning thick burgers with a long metal spatula.

Heavy gray smoke drifted straight up into the low branches of the old oak trees.

I crossed the uneven bricks.