A small room above a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

Because I forgot to close my closet door last night I awoke to the sound of my neighbour's television, a news story concerning U.S. drones and their most recent strike in Yemen. One commentator spoke of the drones "efficacy," how if someone is "pissing you off" (i.e. getting in the way of your pipeline or shipping route), you "take 'em out." Another spoke of diplomacy as the "slow road," comparing it to "the fattest kid at school -- the one the others lap in gym class."

Years ago, when I was ill, an argument arose over my treatment. The surgeon insisted that certain lymph nodes be removed immediately because the cancer was on the verge of spreading; while the oncologist said that surgery, at this stage, could result in malignant cells entering the bloodstream, and that chemotherapy (csisplatin and vinblastine) would shrink the infected nodes to the point where their removal, if necessary, would be less threatening.

Turns out the oncologist got his way, and after four courses of diplomacy, the surgeon "took out" three less-than-responsive nodes, every one of them dead on the inside.