In Iraq, I raided insurgents. In Virginia, the police raided me.
I got home from the bar and fell into bed soon after Saturday night bled into Sunday morning. I didn’t wake up until three police officers barged into my apartment, barking their presence at my door. They sped down the hallway to my bedroom, their service pistols drawn and leveled at me. It was just past 9 a.m., and I was still under the covers. The only visible target was my head.