So, like I said, I went to a place. I can't tell you the name of that place, but I can tell you that it has affordable lodging.

I didn't stay there. It seems that it's not much of a hotel, anyway; the whole building is mainly used as a set. It seems the whole city is at least 50% straight-up bullshit. That's actually a little lower than I had expected. The toy district is pretty cool, and there's a nice uniform store that has these sweet-ass fireproof shirts, and, well, perhaps I've said too much.

Let us move on.

One important mission feature was the excellent spotting position I did manage to obtain. I can't say it was this building or not, but it was totally this building. 700x, stable, waiting for a green light.

Upon successful completion of my task, the operational name of which I cannot refer to directly but will call "Operation Eat Thanksgiving Dinner" for conversation's sake, I obtained some valuable intel on a future target:

Alleged former Troskyiite, in the heady late 80s. He is believed to be at-large, and likely armed. I know a lot more, but I can't give that shit away, as I'm sure you'll understand. I practically had to beg to get what I just gave you cleared. And yes, that's a fucking beret that fucker is wearing. WTF?

Finally, here's one more picture I took while on my mission:

You may recognize this from somewhere else. Or you may not. How the fuck would I know? What am I, your Mom or some shit?

Anyway, I can tell you this: at the end of a long multiple-day stretch in the field, it's really nice to unwind at someplace that has the taste of home; a cold Old Style, served at a place that keeps live worms in the fridge.

It is, however, unfortunate when that place turns out to have bought the sign in some sort of ironic nod towards Midwestern kitsch. Motherfuckers. Don't wear the uniform if you ain't selling the cookies.

So, I'm sure we all agree, they had it coming. Whatever they got, that is. Which I have no idea what that might be. Oh that? Drug-related incident, I'm sure.

Then I came home to the one thing I love, besides myself, of course:

A machine.