I get up and stuff the iPod in one of my pockets, already bulging with random garbage; letters I have yet to send, gum wrappers, pictures I’ve taken during my stay here, and some stamps. And of course, my camera. I’ve kind of made myself not quite official photographer of our unit. The other guys always make fun of me when I take the camera on patrol, but things have been slow around here for a while, so there’s no harm in it. And you should see the faces of the kids, caked in dirt and grime, when they get their picture taken. They absoluetly light up, grabbing your hand and asking you to take more pictures. I always do.

Today is the same as always. We start on patrol around the streets, not seeing much. A couple of kids run around us, playing tag. We keep walking when another boy, about 9 years old, runs up to us, screaming and crying. He pulls us down an alley where we see a young boy, maybe 6, bleeding from the leg.

“What happened?” I ask. He just shakes his head in confusion…he doesn’t know.