There are two armies working in Iraq: the National Guard, and the Film Crew. I am in the National Guard. Each morning we wake up before dawn and board passenger planes to commute to Baghdad. On arrival we guard a variety of posts wearing camouflage and holding semiautomatic weapons. We are mostly ignored and feel helpless. After our shifts, when we are weary and stir-crazy, we must board the same passenger airplanes and take the red-eye flight home, only to return on the next flight at dawn. The Film Crew is much smaller and is staying at the Baghdad City Westin Ambassador hotel. They do not have to wake up early to make the commute and they do not have to fly home afterwards. Their jobs carry prestige, they are smug, and we envy them. I stray from my post to gawk at a hallway where Abe and Will, friends who have been recruited to the Film Crew, are working as production assistants. The scene is a suicide. They brush me away.