Sitting in the warm coach bus, looking out the window at the foggy Conejo Valley, we stopped at a stop in front of a bunch of fast food restaurants. It was the morning, and a seagull had descended on a discarded plastic bag from El Pollo Loco. It tugged from the bottom to wiggle free the contents, and just then three more gulls and a crow arrived. Their beaks wagged as the inaudible squawking began, in an effort to defend the crazy chicken goldmine.

I couldn't sleep last night, and I did far more tossing and turning than I normally do. My joints felt really cramped, and it's probably because I haven't been drinking enough water lately. It wasn't even an issue of silence since I had my earplugs in for the third week in a row. Just merely uncomfortable. It was one of the few times during my tenure here in furlough that I really physically missed my own bed.