Some kind of fighter jet screamed over the camp right at lunch time and F. was so excited about it, the Blue Angels the Blue Angels the Blue Angels! Of course K. and I were outraged, my god, that this country sends these things screaming over the heads of other people’s five year olds in other parts of the world and then drops bombs on them, it’s wrong it’s so wrong. I tried to explain to F. that his pleasure was misplaced, that these planes are actually a central part of the U.S. death machine. It made him cry. I ate my salad.