Oh, the Places I've Been

I found a postcard the other day.  Can't think why I still had it:  bad tradecraft.  Very bad.

Only it was the only one I ever got.  Barney sent it to through a dead drop I kept in Imperial Beach.  All those years and it's the only one he ever sent.

It's got a picture of a range of mountains on the border between Switzerland and Svardia.  No place I've ever heard of.  It's got the ugliest stamp that I think I've ever seen.

Can't think why he sent it.  If it's the time I'm thinking of, I was on this job.  Although you'd never know it.

It was our first big "simulator" job and I was stuck watching the train yard.  Eighteen fucking hours freezing my ass off while their inside playacting.
The first one and they kept me out of it.

Fucking Briggs!

Oh sure, got heavy boxes to move, call Willy.  But when they do something really innovative, really pushing the envelope kind of stuff, do I get a call?  Nope.  Fucking postcard.

Fucking Briggs!  I'm glad he flamed out. 

He shows up every now and again on my TV and it's all I can do to keep from shooting the god damned thing. 

First time I saw him doing his national security analyst thing, I half-thought it was a cover.  Maybe he's in deep.  Always did like the long con.  More I think of it, more I think that he's just found a place to serve up the crazy that consumed him.

I'll never know which is right.  Nobody left to send a postcard now.  Besides, once they give you the cake, they don't give you anything after that.

God damned postcard....

Sheree always wanted to travel.  She dreamed of seeing the world.  Hope she has.  Sorry I couldn't take her.  Hope she found someone who could.

We were really great together.  Just found one another at the wrong time.

When I got to the street, I was not only turned out, I was burned out.  Spend the best years of your life chasing all over the world fighting your country's enemies and the last thing you want to do is get in another plane.

Thing is, I saw the world, just not the pretty parts.

There's a guy in the next bed whining about his time in Korea and going on and on about some whorehouse.  What I wouldn't give for those kind of memories.

I start talking about crawling through tunnels or helping a guy escape from prison who blew up a United States Senator and I am on an express train to the secure ward and I guarantee you there are no postcards there.