I struggled with the new configuration. You'd think stuff like this would have been easy to figure out but apparently not for me. Maybe I was getting too old. The younger kids seemed to have a much easier time with it.

I called up IT. A cheerful voice answered on the other end.

"I'm having a hard time hooking up the new accessories," I told him, trying not to sound like a has-been.

"I'll send someone up," he said. "For more information, consult your ticket."

So I guess he wasn't even going to try to have me fix it myself. I hoped I didn't sound totally clueless.

A few minutes later, the ticket arrived in my inbox. Monday. They wouldn't be getting to it until Monday. I didn't want to be twiddling my thumbs the whole time.

I got up out of my chair and went to see my neighbor. "Have you been able to hook up the new stuff yet?" I asked, holding up two handfuls of wire and electronics.

"Oh that? Months ago." He was an early adopter. "…

So you've got a rifle, a pile of associated crap, and an objective to hit. Rather than trying to hang all that stuff off your belt, putting all the weight on your hips, you could use a chest rig. Current industry offerings can carry from two to eight magazines worth of ammunition, plus radios, first aid kits, administrative supplies, maps, chemlights, batteries, snacks, and so on. Putting all this stuff into the rig and slinging your rifle, you can get to work.

In the past,…

The Westwood Motel is a mile from the city limits, and five miles from the prison in Rainsville. For the last three months, Room 19 has been home to a woman with long, dark hair, and a rose tattoo on her shoulder. 

Gina is dressed in jeans and a black, sleeveless top, and she wears a flat, gold chain necklace that she touches when she is nervous. She is here to be close to a prisoner in Rainsville. I am here for Sentience Magazine, and a story…