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

I picked up my car keys and stepped out into the heat.

Arthur drove a heavy beige sedan that smelled of old leather and breath mints.

We drove out past the county line.

The trees grew denser and the houses spread farther apart.

We turned into a dirt driveway.

A small green ranch house stood at the far end.

The paint on the window trim was peeling off in long strips.

An older man was sitting on the front porch in an aluminum folding chair.