Sometimes, I feel like I'm haunted by my own ghost. A lifetime that died and can't forget the grudges.

It's a Wednesday morning an hour after dawn and I'm out on a cruise, taking the long way because the destination is folly anyhow. I live in a beautiful place where tourists swarm to simply ogle the landscape, and after finding the optimum window settings to catch the green air without [Things to do with hair you find in your drain|scattering my hair], I catch an eyeful of the valley as I break out of the tunnel of trees that line most roads in these parts, and before my fingers stop closing on the coffee mug I've picked out two cherry ambush points overlooking the chokepoint I'm currently rolling through. A charge in the ditch just at the start of the portside guardrail ahead and a second a hundred yards up would pin me down well within range of a dushka dug in at the first position, with spotters in the second laid up with cheap binoculars and a couple more IEDs set to speed dial.

I'd shake

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