Inside, under my folded civilian shirt, was a black vinyl binder from my last deployment.

I had never used it.

It had two clear pockets inside the front cover.

The clerk stamped a second copy, slid the emergency hearing summons under the glass, and tapped the date with her fingernail.

Friday, nine o’clock.

At three o’clock I cleared the motel desk and pulled the lamp to the edge.

Elena Vance, my neighbor, set an electric three-hole punch on the carpet and plugged it in.

“Pastor thinks I’m copying bulletins,” she said.