Dedication for this essay goes to brother MSG (ret) Raymond Inabnitt

I awoke in my plaid dorm alarmed that some force had crept into it in the dark of night and sucked the life and color completely out of it, leaving a drab carpet, drabber curtains, and the drabbest portrait of some clown in a fez.

I missed the fez I had appropriated my first day in-country, one that had long gone by the way to finance a cab ride to the yelping of my poor feet.

I harnessed my run-away mind before it painted a picture of my room so grim as to drive me to suicide, and realized that the drab was the same level of drab it had been the evening before; nothing had changed overnight. I had to peel myself out of this “bed” and extricate my being from this room; to stay here was to die.