I leaned back and closed my eyes. A habit I’d picked up in the military. Concentrated on relaxing all my muscles. From the head down to the end of my toes and back up again. Any kind of travel, plane, train, automobile, you will find me sleeping. I once fell asleep sixteen hours into a forced march at five thousand feet. I just slept and walked. I have a recurring dream. It’s real simple. I’m in free fall. There is nothing around me, just air. No ground below. No sky above. I’m in free fall. Tumbling and getting nowhere. Takes some getting used to.

The station was modern and small. Two municipal police cars were parked out front at a diagonal. The gray cloud was pressing down and darkening in places. Grouse looked at the sky for a while as we drove in. He didn’t say anything.

The bearded cop parked in the visitor spot. My door was locked from the outside. So I waited for the bald guy to open it for me. He took his time. I didn’t think that was nice. But I didn’t fuss. I slung the pack over my shoulder and headed into the station.

It’s hard to remember sometimes that cops are people too, and not just cops. The same is true for military service men and women. In the end they are men and women, people. Just like everyone else. Once you’ve experienced combat, the distinction is even simpler. Combatant or not. That is if you can tell the difference. The real trouble starts when you can’t.

The cops escorted me through the door. People lingered in the lobby. They waited around the coin-operated coffee machine, reclined on chairs lined up along the front window, and mostly stared into their phones. There was a desk manned by a uniformed officer. There was a plant in the waiting area. A spiky thing with a reptilian trunk. Looked like it had been chosen for its resilience and autonomy. There wasn’t a lot of noise. Just the murmur of nervous voices. Grouse looped an identification lanyard over his neck. He nodded to the cop behind the counter, who buzzed us through.

We entered the working part of the station. Uniformed police huddled around desks. There was a better-looking coffee machine and a water dispenser with small cone-shaped cups. The uniforms were ‘Municipal Police’. The plainclothes men took me up a flight of stairs. Black steel handrails and white concrete. The steps had tiny smooth stones set into them. In through another door. Down a corridor. Offices either side. No more uniforms.