The Crying of Gilgo Beach

Posted on by Team Penthouse

I was once told by a woman who calls herself a witch that I was a prostitute in a past life — or, rather, in her own words: a woman of ill repute. I’m not normally one to put stock in this kind of thing, but when she told me that, I didn’t have to engage in a lot of mental gymnastics for it to make a strange sort of sense.

The woman’s words came back to me when I found myself compelled to investigate the unsolved murders of sex workers whose remains were discovered lined up along a lonely beach-town road. There were times it did feel like a past life had hijacked my brain, convincing me to fall in with an internet crowd trying to solve the Long Island Serial Killer case.

These sleuths are stay-at-home moms, taxi drivers, psychics, people on bed rest, bankers, and even a former Las Vegas haunted-house employee — dedicated amateurs who’ve spent years scouring the internet, looking for anything the authorities might have missed, anything that could lead to the capture of a canny killer believed to have been operating in the shadows for 20 years.

Early on, I told myself I wouldn’t become a desktop detective. I rationalized the time and energy I began directing toward this mystery by classifying my interest as basic human curiosity —

I just wanted to know who these people, these keyboard Sherlocks, were. It seemed worth looking into, journalistically — a varied group of Americans attaching themselves to a notorious serial-murder case.

And yet here I am, one cold January day, walking the shoulder of Ocean Parkway on a desolate barrier island off Long Island’s southern shore. I’m following a video map I found on YouTube, one that traces the steps of the killer, who used this stretch of road as a secret graveyard. The map shows where the perpetrator is believed to have carried his victims’ bodies, wrapped in burlap sacks, from a car and dumped them in bramble, mere feet from the road’s edge.

No one knew a killer had been depositing bodies and body parts in the South Shore region of Long Island when Shannan Gilbert went missing in the predawn gloom of May 1, 2010.

Ocean Parkway Road View

Shannan, a 24-year-old escort from Jersey City, New Jersey, had advertised her services on Craigslist. She’d arrived at her client Joseph Brewer’s house in Oak Beach, a small, gated community off Ocean Parkway. But something inside Brewer’s house freaked her out, and she called 911. Although police have not released the 911 tape, her mother, Mari Gilbert, heard portions. She says her daughter was screaming, “They’re trying to kill me!” They could refer to Brewer and Shannan’s driver, Michael Pak — but Suffolk County police have cleared both men. Investigators claim she sounded psychotic — possibly a reaction to drugs. She bolted from the house, away from the two men, banged on neighbors’ doors, and vanished.

After weeks of nothing, the search for Shannan slowed down. Her family accused the police of not trying hard enough to find her because she was.… just a hooker.

Then, on December 11, 2010, police officer John Mallia and his cadaver dog, Blue, were training on Ocean Parkway, near Gilgo Beach, minutes from where Shannan was last seen, when Blue found a woman’s skeletal remains. They turned out to be the remains of Melissa Barthelemy, another escort who advertised on Craigslist and had been missing for a year.

Mallia and his dog would later find the bodies of three more young women placed only hundreds of feet apart on Gilgo Beach. Each of them had been strangled and started to decompose at another location — a pattern that has been linked to serial killers who engage in necrophilia. Like Barthelemy, these women were found inside burlap sacks. The victims were Amber Lynn Costello, 27, Maureen Brainard-Barnes, 25, and Megan Waterman, 22.

Using a search party of cadaver dogs, divers, and helicopters, Suffolk County PD would go on to find the corpses or body parts of six more people scattered along Ocean Parkway. Some of the remains discovered at Gilgo Beach turned out to be genetic matches for body parts found 20 years earlier elsewhere on Long Island.

A pair of hands and a skull matched a mutilated torso found in Manorville, 40 miles east. A skull matched a pair of legs that had washed ashore on Fire Island in 1996. There was an Asian male, still unidentified, found in women’s clothes. There was the corpse of an African-American toddler wrapped in a blanket whose DNA connected it to another corpse, the girl’s mother, found a mile away.

Currently, there are more unidentified victims than those police have identified. After the additional discoveries, investigators struggled to establish whether this was the work of one killer or possibly more. A single-killer theory was easier to support back when all the victims were a similar type: petite, white escorts.

Police eventually found Shannan Gilbert a year later, in nearby wetlands off the road, badly decomposed. Her death was ruled an accidental drowning — overexposure to the elements having weakened her until she collapsed.

Still convinced she’d been in a drug-induced episode, police suggested she ran through the marsh, disoriented. The Suffolk County PD does not include her as one of the victims of the serial killer — something Shannan’s family struggles with. On the one hand, they hope she wasn’t murdered. On the other, is it really just a coincidence that a fifth woman, also a sex worker who advertised online, was found dead in a swamp near Gilgo Beach?

When asked if police were taking this serial murder case seriously enough, former Suffolk County police commissioner Richard Dormer, who worked the case until he retired, made a point of saying he hung the photos of these young women in his office.

“They look like your neighbors,” Dormer stated. “Nobody deserves to have their life snuffed out. Police departments everywhere take murder very seriously. Doesn’t matter the occupation of the victim — if you were murdered, we’re obligated to represent that person.”

But Lorraine Ela, mother of Megan Waterman, says she’s convinced the cops have put her daughter’s case on the back burner. “This is too big a case for Suffolk County to handle,” Ela tells me, and notes that she rarely hears from police anymore. For a time, in 2015, when the FBI began assisting and Suffolk County got a new police commissioner, Ela was hopeful there’d be increased action on the case. But her phone has since stopped ringing.

This silence is one reason Ela and family members of other victims turned to case websites and desktop detectives for support, updates, and possible leads, however unofficial.

THE first place I find extensive, user-gathered information regarding the case is the YouTube channel of Gray Hughes. He made the video-map I used to navigate Ocean Parkway. When Hughes reads about a crime scene, he logs onto Google Earth and drops a pin. He often then replicates the scene and its physical setting with a program like 3D Studio Max and posts the video for user analysis.

When it comes to the Long Island Serial Killer case, Hughes is trying to provide a resource that can help people visualize the crime scene. He hopes it might trigger a memory in someone who has been through the area, perhaps a beachgoer, someone who might have seen something suspicious.

“I feel like it gives the viewer a better feel for the location,” Hughes tells me.

It does exactly that. His Google Earth video’s point-of-view is one of a person standing on the shoulder of Ocean Parkway — the same view the killer might have had after pulling over with a body in the car. Hughes’ video pans slowly left to right, scanning the barren landscape. During winter, with the beaches deserted, Ocean Parkway is so isolated it’s not hard to believe a killer could dispose of a body, or bodies, even in broad daylight.

Paranoia comes naturally to people in the online amateur-detective world. It’s what happens when you immerse yourself in dark details, labyrinthine theories, and rosters of potential murder suspects in unsolved serial murder cases — cases where the killer might still be at large, and perhaps reading your latest website post.

Fear has both fostered and destroyed relationships in this digital community. It’s a subculture of distrust, anxiety, and information. It’s a realm rife with clues and red herrings, do-gooders and trolls. It’s hard to get people’s real names.

“Zero,” for example, was suspicious of me from the start.

“I’m a little curious about you,” he tells me online. “Your questions are so specific. I’m wondering if there is more to why you are looking into all this.” I tell him he can google me. Or check my Facebook. I assure him I’m a real person.

Zero responds, “I say this kind of thing to everyone.”

He has his reasons for wondering if I am legit. After he began posting about the Long Island Serial Killer, aka LISK, in 2013, he was targeted by trolls. His website, liskdotcom.wordpress.com (still online but rendered inactive in 2014), is both a museum of factual evidence and an archive of paranoia-tinged comments.

All the case theories are here, from a police cover-up to demon worshippers, from snuff films to the sex-and-death orgies of millionaires. Zero’s own emails arrive jammed with giant blocks of information. He helps me try to get a grip on this vast chaos of truth and fiction, evidence and fantasy. He’s preserved hundreds of emails between him and others (persons of interest, possible witnesses, fellow desktop detectives, victims’ families), as well as screenshots of almost any online mention of this enduring mystery.

Zero’s site was part of a second wave dedicated to the case, succeeding the now-defunct LongIslandSerialKiller.com, which went live in the days after the first bodies were found. That site got substantial traffic from amateur sleuths, family members of victims, and Long Island residents unsettled by the notion that a serial killer might still be out there, poised to dump another body.

But the site’s chat room also became a place of slander, wild rumors, and trolling. People accused fellow visitors of being the killer. Everyone I’ve spoken to about LongIslandSerialKiller.com believes the killer himself not only visited the website, but might have posted. Anxiety escalated. Certain commenters banded together out of fear the killer was stalking them — even if they lived in different states, hundreds of miles away.

The site’s founder, overwhelmed, eventually shut it down. But new websites popped up. One of these, Catching LISK, created by MysteryMom7, captured the founder’s growing paranoia. At one point, MysteryMom7 thought the killer had sent a drone to spy on her. She claimed it crashed in her backyard.

Two camps would come to frequent Zero’s own site. There were those working to unlock the mystery, and those pushing wild conspiracies. In the first camp was a woman named Linda. Bedridden after an accident, she became engrossed with the case’s complexities. Linda and Zero made it a goal to keep the conspiracy camp from spreading misinformation to the victims’ families. Zero spoke with Shannan’s mother, Mari, and offered to make sure certain people weren’t “in her ear.”

Understandably, Mari pursued any shred of possible hope, and cast a wide net in seeking help. She contacted people like Jerrie Dean, founder of Missing Persons of America. Dean has compiled an almost Bible-size list of missing people. Some entries date so far back, the victims were last seen on stagecoaches.

Dean told me the same thing she told Mari: She thinks something set Shannan off in the house, which led to a dissociative break. She believes Shannan’s death was accidental. However, she also believes former Suffolk County police chief James Burke was, in her words, “lazy,” and “didn’t care about [those young women].” (Reader, put a pin in Burke’s name.)

According to people posting on the internet, the Long Island Serial Killer is a clean-cut sociopath, a shoe freak with a nice car, a wife, and kids. He’s a South Shore local, religious, bisexual, well-spoken. He’s a doctor and periodic drunk. He’s a bald narcissist. He’s corporate and charming. He’s a fisherman with a truck. He’s a small-town cop who keeps corpses for sex. He’s a transient, blue-collar, 50-year-old white male. He’s a depraved sadomasochist who summers on the shore.

The internet has put forth various persons of interest. There’s Joseph Brewer, the john. There’s Michael Pak, Shannan’s driver the night she disappeared. There’s someone known as “The Drifter” — a man who claims to have partied with Brewer and even self-published a “fictionalized autobiography,” detailing the supposed drug-fueled prostitution parties at Brewer’s house.

Rooted deep in the online discussion is the notion of a possible police cover-up. This theory began with the fact that the killer used Melissa Barthelemy’s cell phone to call and taunt her teenage sister. The sister, Amanda, received several phone calls from a calm-sounding man telling her that Melissa was a whore and that he was “watching her rot.” Some desktop detectives believe the killer is somehow connected with law enforcement because during these disturbing calls, he’d hang up just before the call could be traced. When police were able to ping the phone’s general location, it turned out the killer had placed the calls from crowded places like Times Square or Madison Square Garden. Former police commissioner Richard Dormer dismisses this theory. He says anyone who’s seen some cop shows knows that tracing protocol.

But there’s also James Burke, onetime Suffolk County police chief. In 2015, Burke was arrested for beating up a young man who stole a canvas bag containing pornography and sex toys from Burke’s SUV. The beating happened while the thief was shackled at a county police station. Burke went on to cover up the assault, and eventually pleaded guilty to obstruction of justice and violating the man’s civil rights.

Burke’s past is fodder for conspiracy theorists who accuse him of mishandling the LISK case — and maybe even being the killer himself. Back when Burke was a sergeant, he was caught having sex with a drug dealer and prostitute. Even still, he rose to become police chief. Moreover, when Burke was a teen, he testified in court against his friends, whom he watched beat a 13-year-old Smithtown boy to death in the woods and stuff rocks into his mouth. They wonder about Burke’s account of the murder.

The theory that would take firmest hold on websites fingered Dr. Charles Peter Hackett. For years, Hackett was an Oak Beach resident: a middle-aged, overweight man with a prosthetic leg. A group of commenters worked hard to build a link between the doctor and the death of Shannan Gilbert. Hackett became the internet’s top person of interest after Mari said Hackett called her in the days after Shannan went missing. Hackett, Mari said, uttered something very strange, saying he ran a “home for wayward girls.” Though Hackett denied all this and claimed he never hosted Shannan, phone records confirm he did in fact call Mari.

A past trauma in Zero’s life might help account for his obsessive drive to illuminate this case. When he was 16, living in California, his best friend’s mom was killed by William Suff, aka the Riverside Prostitute Killer, convicted of murdering 12 women and suspected of many more slayings. When Suff’s photo appeared on television, Zero said his friend recognized him immediately.

Zero used to work at the Fright Dome in Las Vegas, a haunted house. His character had long scraggly hair, a ghoulish, blood-smeared face, and a Manson Family “X” on his forehead. It might be tempting to label Zero a morbid person, drawn to horror, and conclude that’s what led him to the LISK case. But from what I gleaned, Zero truly does want justice for the victims. He’s seen firsthand the destructive aftermath of a serial killer’s crimes.

When not entertaining every data speck, Zero also has had to deal with those trolls, and face some bizarre accusations, like “devil worship.” He had his name posted on websites and victim-memorial pages, with commenters suggesting he might be the killer himself. Some of this stuff began with a person I’ll call Money, who would also accuse her ex-husband of the murders.

Money claimed to be working with the FBI. Zero didn’t think she was a real person at first — just a troll with an alias. But it turned out she used her real name, worked at a bank, and Zero called her once. What really pissed him off was how normal she sounded. He says she believed she was sincerely helping the case.

Zero tells me Money and MysteryMom7 eventually joined forces.

“I contacted Long Island Homicide once, because they insisted I was endangering them,” he says. Money’s case theories are twisty and kooky, connecting everyone from James Burke to Zero to Hackett to the actor Michael Fassbender.

Money commented extensively on Zero’s site and Facebook memorial pages. She highlighted a group of men known as the Carney Construction Crew, or CCC, whom she alleged kill women for sport. She claimed her ex-husband and Hackett were CCC members. At first, Zero and others dismissed this stuff, like they’d rejected her Satanism theories. But then Zero and MysteryMom7 began receiving vague, spooky threats on their websites.

Zero shows me some visitor comments, the first by “Teps.”

Teps: Disregard everything said about the CCC. All falsification and wishful thinking. Go about your regular business and leave the CCC out of this.

Lightweight: CCC got no beef with you. Why you dragging CCC through the mud?

452inLondon: Carney Construction Crew after you? Do not take any chances. Shut down this website…. Take it to the pavement where it is more private.

To me, the comments read like the words of cartoon villains. They could have been typed by anybody. Zero, though, eventually came to think there might be something to the CCC. And he tells me to visit the site Websleuths for more.

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Bad Moon Rising

Posted on by Team Penthouse

When director John Landis and his music team needed a song to score two minutes of screen time just before their film’s protagonist, American backpacker David Kessler, grows a pelt of black body hair, deadly fangs, and vicious claws, they turned to “Bad Moon Rising,” a 1969 Creedence Clearwater Revival song written by John Fogerty.

The movie? An American Werewolf in London, a now-canonical 1981 horror-comedy that makes darkly humorous use of popular songs throughout. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” scores a sex scene, and versions of “Blue Moon,” sung by Bobby Vinton and Sam Cooke, appear, too. But the CCR song is a high point, ushering in the famous werewolf transformation scene, and Landis would later say “Bad Moon Rising,” with its ominous lyrics joining a sprightly tempo and catchy riffs, fit the “mood” of his hybrid movie.

As it happens, a spooky Hollywood film was central to Fogerty’s inspiration. If the song’s name came from a little book of scribbled title ideas he’d been keeping since 1967, it was a movie released in 1941, a few weeks before Pearl Harbor, that got Fogerty going lyrically. Eventually called The Devil and Daniel Webster, the film was based on a short story of the same name by Stephen Vincent Benét, and published in the Saturday Evening Post in 1936, during the depths of the Depression.

In Benét’s story, a New Hampshire farmer named Jabez Stone sells his soul to the devil for cash to overcome his debts, then enjoys a stratospheric rise to local power before the Dark Lord arrives to collect and Webster has to intervene and defend the farmer at trial.

“[His] crops were the envy of the neighbourhood,” Benét writes of Stone’s rising fortunes, “and lightning might strike all over the valley, but it wouldn’t strike his barn.” In the movie, we see dark, distant clouds, followed by destroyed fields. “But not my wheat!” shouts James Craig, who plays Stone. “I’ll have a rich harvest!”

John Fogerty saw the movie on TV when he was young. Born in 1945, Fogerty and his bandmates in Creedence Clearwater Revival were classic suburban California kids, raised in El Cerrito, on the east side of San Francisco Bay, during the early days of television. In the late sixties, after ten years hustling the band through various names and styles, they finally had the attention of radio listeners.

The singles “Suzie Q” and “Proud Mary” had sold well, and Fogerty was becoming more productive as a writer. He composed songs in near-silence while his wife and young children slept at night. In that unlikely laboratory—quiet and domestic, even while the greater American culture resembled a powder keg, with both Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy assassinated just months earlier—Fogerty remembered the old black-and-white movie and start putting words to chords and a melody.

In 1993, speaking to Rolling Stone, he highlighted a post-storm sequence in the movie: “Everybody’s crops [are] destroyed. Boom. Right next door is the guy’s field who made the deal with the devil, and his corn is still straight up, six feet. That image was in my mind. I went, ‘Holy mackerel!’”

And so, taking inspiration from a subdued, 15-second scene in a 1941 movie, John Fogerty wrote some of the most nightmarish lyrics to ever appear in a Top 40 radio hit: “I hear hurricanes a-blowing/ I know the end is coming soon/ I fear rivers overflowing/ I hear the voice of rage and ruin.”

It may not be the archetypal Creedence song, this tune which climbed to No. 2 in America and topped the U.K. charts. “Fortunate Son” is truer to their sound and energy, “Down on the Corner” is easier to dance to, and no riff, by anyone, has ever bettered “Up Around the Bend.”

Nevertheless, “Bad Moon Rising” embodies everything that made Creedence great. It has its own marvelous intro hook, soon supplemented by the band’s perennially underappreciated rhythm section: Doug “Cosmo” Clifford on drums, Stu Cook on bass, and Tom Fogerty, John’s older brother and the group’s painfully deposed onetime frontman, on rhythm guitar. It’s also a vintage John Fogerty production, an audio tribute to Sun Records’ slap-back stomp. Despite its dark lyrics, it’s just so fun.

Fogerty never wrote love songs, and contrary to Creedence’s ubiquity in Vietnam-era-set movies, he didn’t regularly channel his songwriting gifts into political-protest anthems or social-minded songs, either. “Bad Moon Rising,” like “Up Around the Bend,” “Run Through the Jungle,” and so many others, is mostly a litany of images, a summoning of a mood. In this case, the mood is literally apocalyptic, even though the tune and beat are as bouncy as the band ever got.

Perhaps that bounce helps account for the song’s strikingly durable legacy, even by Creedence standards.

It’s been covered by 20-plus artists, in multiple musical styles, including reggae. It’s appeared in two dozen films and TV shows, from Blade to The Big Lebowski, from Mr. Woodcock to Kong: Skull Island, from The Walking Dead to Alvin and the Chipmunks. In Argentina, it’s used as a stadium soccer chant. And it’s the subject of the most famous misheard-lyric joke this side of “Purple Haze.” People frequently interpret the chorus’s closing line, “There’s a bad moon on the rise,” as “There’s a bathroom on the right.” Fogerty occasionally lightens up his own song by singing that blooper lyric in concert.

Then there’s Sonic Youth, a defiantly un-Creedence-like postpunk noise band who took much harsher stands on social issues and specific politicians, including Ronald Reagan, when they first emerged from the early-1980s New York underground. Their second album, released in 1985, is their angriest and darkest, almost devoid of melody, and filled with impressionistic lyrics about Native American genocide. The record’s title? Bad Moon Rising.

(CCR trivia: They were the first band to mention “Ol’ Ronnie,” as they called him, in a rock song. He’s in verse three of “It Came Out of the Sky,” from Willy and the Poor Boys, released in 1969.)

“Bad Moon Rising” still floats amiably through our culture, enriching road trips, cover bands’ setlists, and classic-rock radio programming. It has amassed numerous cultural reference points over the years, in part because it emerged from so many references itself. A river of storytelling, stretching from Goethe’s Faust to the Saturday Evening Post to Hollywood, flowed through “Bad Moon Rising” before Creedence ever recorded it, following days working the song out in Doug Clifford’s back-garden shed.

Since 1969, it’s picked up the Coen brothers, Manhattan art rock, jokebook mentions, horror movies, and so much more. Let’s assume it will continue to

echo, inspire, and create cultural linkages, growing like Jabez Stone’s corn, reference-wise. After all, in “Bad Moon Rising,” the storm never arrives.

John Lingan is the author of “Homeplace: A Southern Town, a Country Legend, and the Last Days of a Mountaintop Honky-Tonk.” He lives in Maryland with his wife and two children, and is writing a biography of Creedence Clearwater Revival for Da Capo Press.

Classic Albums to Blast All Summer

Posted on by Team Penthouse

Girlschool — Hit and Run (1981)

Championed by Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead, Britain’s first all-girl heavy metal band burst onto the rock scene in 1979 when they toured with their mentors on Motörhead’s Overkill run. Known for their contagious hooks and wild stage presence, Girlschool’s Hit and Run is the band’s biggest, best album, a nonstop rush of pure, heart-thumping rock that makes you want to drive dangerously fast on a freeway heading out of town.

Nazareth — Razamanaz (1973)

Scottish hard rock legends Nazareth broke the mold with their 1975 album Hair of the Dog, but the real jam is its predecessor, Razamanaz. This baby is nothing less than perfection, from the title track to “Bad Bad Boy” to “Woke Up This Morning” (produced by Deep Purple’s Roger Glover). A parade of hits and feel-good rock ’n’ roll that keeps you feeling young and stoked.

Ace Frehley — Ace Frehley (1978)

When KISS finally had enough of each other’s egos, they all decided to head off and record their own solo albums in a weird, passive-aggressive competition to see who could outsell the other. The Spaceman’s album outshone his bandmates, and for good reason. This first solo effort is a total banger. Songs like “Rip It Out,” “Snow Blind,” and “Wiped-Out” will remind you of the good ol’ days of rock ’n’ roll, while “New York Groove,” written by England’s Russ Ballard, is a straight-up summer classic.

Thin Lizzy — Bad Reputation (1977)

It wouldn’t be summer without some Thin Lizzy, and Bad Reputation is one of their most ferocious records. Even though there was a lot of internal drama surrounding the recording process (guitarist Brian Robertson left the band and was only credited on three tracks), this lean, dangerous rock album has stood the test of time. Play it loud, boys.

Silverhead — Silverhead (1972)

A British glam rock band, Silverhead might have had an abbreviated run, but these skinny, raunchy party boys—led by singer-actor Michael Des Barres—made some killer music before parting ways. Their self-titled 1972 release is a hidden treasure of sexy, classic rock, with dirty lyrics and sparkling production. From the first song “Long Legged Lisa” to “Rolling With My Baby” to the stand-out track “Sold Me Down the River,” it’s no wonder these talented skanks were primed to be the next Slade.

Rory Gallagher — Tattoo (1973)

Tattoo is a rare gem of Irish blues delivered by guitarist Rory Gallagher. Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Queen’s Brian May, and Johnny Marr of The Smiths all praised Gallagher for his music, even though he never hit the mainstream the way these musicians did. Tattoo will send you into a swirling spiral of blues guitar rock, mixing heavy hitters and soothing tracks perfect for long summer drives.

John Prine — Sweet Revenge (1973)

This record just makes you want to kick off your boots, lay down by a lake or river, sip on a beer, and let your mind float away. So, do just that. Lose yourself listening to a country-folk classic that juiced Prine’s career. Brain pillow, indeed.

David Allan Coe — Penitentiary Blues (1970)

Before he solidified himself as the swampland’s dirtiest country singer, David Allan Coe released Penitentiary Blues, a seedy amalgam of country, blues, and rock ’n’ roll. This surprising album is a rare collection of twangy blues riffs about the down-and-out days Coe spent locked up in the South. References to heroin, “Monkey David Wine,” death row, alligators, and “eating meat with a spoon” all flow into place as this underrated masterpiece chugs through you. “Let’s go to the jungle now….”

Essential Travel Products for Every Man

Posted on by Team Penthouse

URSA MAJOR TRAVEL ESSENTIALS KIT

This travel-size collection will help you get from home to a foreign land feeling refreshed and ready to take on your first day in a new time zone. The multiuse kit includes their Fantastic Face Wash, 4-in-1 Essential Face Tonic, Fortifying Face Balm, Essential Face Wipes, and Hoppin’ Fresh Deodorant. There’s just enough of each to convince you you’ll want them all in greater quantities once you get home from your trip.

NEUTROGENA MEN TRIPLE PROTECT FACE LOTION BROAD SPECTRUM SPF 20

Simple, effective, and ultra-moisturizing, this face cream will have you boosted all day and protected against the sun. Neutrogena has been dominating the skincare game for decades because they make affordable, quality products that do the job better than most. We love this face cream, and you will too.

HIMS IMMUNITY GUMMY VITAMINS

Keep your immune system fortified with these gummy-bear blasts of vitamin A, E, and K. Pop three a day while on airplanes, subways, and trains to keep other people’s nastiness at bay. Plus, the Meyer lemon flavor will make your taste buds happy.

J-PILLOW TRAVEL NECK PILLOW

This pillow may look ridiculous, but there’s a reason it’s been voted the most necessary travel accessory over and over. It’s the best on the market, ingeniously crafted for getting you some serious sleep — a slumber that won’t leave you with a crick in your neck when you wake. It even provides chin support. You may look like a weirdo with this thing wrapped around your head, but you’ll be dead asleep, so who cares?

W&P DESIGN CARRY-ON COCKTAIL KIT

The first thing some of us need once we buckle in for a long flight is a stiff drink, but vodka and canned tomato juice does not a Bloody Mary make. The W&P Design Carry-On Cocktail Kit sets you up with all the fixings you’ll need to make your favorite cocktail while in flight. Plus, this product is TSA-approved, so there won’t be any problem pre-flight.

BRICKELL MAXIMUM STRENGTH MEN’S HAND CREAM

This fast-absorbing, lightweight, nongreasy hand cream is perfect for the ramblin’ man. Nourished with vitamin E, shea butter, and jojoba oil, the unique balm locks in moisture, and comes unscented or scented with peppermint, eucalyptus, and lemongrass essential oils.

GOODWIPES BODY WIPES FOR GUYS

During those crazy trips that don’t give you time for a five-minute shower, these extra-large wipes have got you covered. They’re made with tea tree oil, peppermint, and ginseng, are alcohol- and paraben-free, and 100 percent biodegradable and hypoallergenic. Whether you’re mid-meeting, post-fishing, or rushing from CrossFit to dinner, one swipe to your crucial spots is all you’ll need.

ANTHONY FACIAL SCRUB

This best-selling facial scrub uses Bora Bora white sand to exfoliate dead skin cells and eliminate ingrown hairs. It’s also packed with vitamin C, aloe vera, algae, and chamomile to help your face feel smooth and clean. Treat yourself.

ROWENTA DR8080 X-CEL STEAM HANDHELD GARMENT STEAMER

On the road, your clothes are bound to get wrinkled no matter how hard you try to prevent it. That’s the way it goes. Get ahead of the game with this powerful little portable steamer, whose rapid, impressive steam capacity not only smooths out your garments, but sanitizes them. Just add water, heat it up, and you’ll be free of those wrinkles in no time.

HERSCHEL NOVEL DUFFLE

Herschel’s signature duffle bag has received rave reviews since its inception. This classic carry-on is both stylish and functional with its patterned fabric liner, internal storage sleeves, two-way waterproof zipper, and signature shoe compartment. It’s pretty much the perfect weekend bag.

Must-Read Poolside Books for Summer

Posted on by Team Penthouse

THE CODDLING OF THE AMERICAN MIND

How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting Up a Generation for Failure

Jonathan Haidt, Greg Lukianoff

Is there a risk to treating children and young adults like Fabergé eggs—or snowflakes ready to melt at the slightest heat? Yes, the authors argue, because overprotection means they won’t develop the resilience they’ll need in life. Using today’s college campus—that bubble of trigger warnings and safe spaces—as Exhibit A, Haidt and Lukianoff expose an entire culture that’s too emotional, tribal, dogmatic, and brittle.

WHEN

The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing

Daniel H. Pink

Want to maximize your time on Earth, starting tomorrow? Pink is here to help with a brilliant series of life-hacks targeting daily schedules and routines. But he doesn’t stop there. He also taps a wealth of scientific research to help you pick the right moment to make a big life move—in love, work, and more. And he does it all with great stories and humor.

MR. KNOW–IT–ALL

The Tarnished Wisdom of a Filth Elder

John Waters

Most of us don’t have a comic-genius friend who’s been making movies for decades, who parties with people like Johnny Depp and Tracey Ullman, and who once hitchhiked across America at age 66 wearing a “Scum of the Earth” ball cap. But we’re in luck! Lover of weirdness, connoisseur of crude, John Waters brings us inside his crazy life with a new blast of uncensored storytelling.

SUPERMARKET

Bobby Hall

Rapper, singer, and record producer Bobby Hall—aka Logic—has done something that Jay-Z, Eminem, Ice Cube, Ice-T, Wiz Khalifa, and many other hip-hop artists have never done—write a novel. It’s a head-trip psychological thriller, with sex, drugs, and murder, about an Oregon supermarket clerk with a messed-up life. The multitalented Maryland native, now 29, says he wrote it for the challenge. Corpse in aisle nine, anyone?

THE RIVER

Peter Heller

What if you and a college buddy were on a canoe trip in northern Canada and paddled your way into a raging wildfire? Then you encounter a guy who might have offed the woman sharing his canoe? And this potential killer turns his attention to you next. That’s the premise of this gripping thriller by a former Outside magazine editor and world-class kayaker. Think Deliverance in the Great White North.

RANGE

How Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World

David Epstein

To become elite at something, you have to focus all your time and energy on it, and start young, right? Isn’t that what Malcolm Gladwell teaches with his “10,000-hour rule”? Look at Mozart, right? Wrong. So says acclaimed science writer Epstein in a book even Gladwell finds compelling. Epstein demonstrates that success comes to those who gain a range of experiences, learn varied skills, take detours, and even switch careers.

MIND AND MATTER

A Life in Math and Football

John Urschel and Louisa Thomas

It sounds like a fanciful Hollywood movie—a lineman for the Baltimore Ravens, formerly one of college football’s greatest at Penn State, pursues a mathematics PhD at MIT while earning a living protecting quarterbacks from rampaging rushers. Now retired from the NFL, Urschel shares his incredible story of pursuing two very different passions—and becoming exceptional in both arenas.

WEED

Everything You Want to Know But Are Always Too Stoned to Ask

Michelle Lhooq

L.A.-based Lhooq, a former music editor at VICE, has created a weed wonderland between the pages of her book—the ultimate guide to the exciting new landscape of cannabis. Witty and vivid illustrations from artist Thu Tran complement Lhooq’s zesty (and very funny) compendium, which covers smoking, growing, cooking, scoring, edibles, stoner etiquette, and more, and features interviews with weed innovators, celebs, and pros.

UNDERLAND

A Deep Time Journey

Robert Macfarlane

A Scottish author, hiker, mountaineer, and Cambridge University scholar, Macfarlane may be the greatest nature writer in English. A wizard of words and story, he delivers a masterpiece here, exploring the dark realms beneath the Earth’s surface, from caves to Paris catacombs to deep-sunk repositories for nuclear waste. To accompany his many adventures, he reflects on the “underworlds” of myth, legend, story, and religion.

WHITE

Bret Easton Ellis

As you might guess from the title, Ellis, author of American Psycho, is here to provoke. No stranger to controversy (Psycho depicted ultraviolence and extreme misogyny), Ellis crushes political correctness, social media’s “cult of likability,” and America’s “overreaction epidemic.” He advises liberals to moan less about Trump. Progressive Twitter went ballistic months before White published. Here’s your chance to see what all the fuss was about.

Stripper Tips: How to Act at the Club

Posted on by Team Penthouse

Bring money

The strip club is not your neighborhood bar, so don’t get peeved when the girls approach you. Sure, you’re under no obligation to have a dance, but at the very least, bring some greenbacks. And if for some reason you’re short on cash, don’t fret—PayPal and Venmo are your friends! This also cuts out the typical 20 percent strip-club credit card surcharge. A win for both of you.

If you’re front row, pay for the show

Strip-club etiquette 101:

If you’re sitting at the stage, expect that the girls will come, shake their groove thing, and pull out their G string for a tip. That is your cue to show some love. If you proceed to just stare and not tip, it’s the ultimate insult and, not to mention, lame as fuck.

Time is money

Keep in mind that clubs charge a house fee. The girls have an overhead the minute they walk in. Sure, we can talk, but we can’t sit and hang out with you for hours. This is work time, not playtime. Tipping for conversation is strongly encouraged. And if you want your favorite dancer to yourself all night, get a room, a bottle, and a few hundred bucks.

This is not a petting zoo

Different cities have different rules regarding what goes down. And the clubs within those cities have their own rules. This also comes down to personal discretion. Remember: It’s her body, not yours. You should never take it upon yourself to go to her nether regions unless she makes it clear she wants you to.

Pay to come

We get that lap dances can induce thunder down under. After all, we want to make sure the blood’s circulating properly down there. But if it’s so good that you come in your pants and it gets on her, make sure you tip somewhere in the realm of $50-$100. At the very least, think of it as a dry-cleaning fee.

Something for the ladies

Couples can be fun. What’s not fun is the insecure girlfriend/wife in the club, not keen on seeing another woman slather herself all over her man. We promise, we’re not trying to take him. Just his wallet. Think of a dance as an accelerant. He’s going to get hot and bothered and take it out on you at the end of the night.

NOT All strippers are broken

For most of the girls, dancing is a stepping-stone to a better life—be it college, a down payment on a home, or shattering some debt. The next time you decide to paint them all as “broken” or diagnose them with “daddy issues,” think twice. That dance you’re paying for might be funding an MBA.

Put your camera away

Strip clubs are akin to casinos as far as photography and video are concerned. Don’t forget that most strippers do this in secret. And, honestly, no one wants to be broadcast on your social without their consent.

“What are you doing later?”

After dancing in seven-inch heels all night, we most likely want to soak in a hot tub and go to sleep. No joke—dancing all night gives way to a shitload of issues, from knee problems to bunions. You’re not the only one who gets stiff.

“Is that all?”

Look, we get that you’re turned on and, yeah, it might be a buzzkill to rub one out in the bathroom after a lap dance. However, we’re not banging you. We’re dancers, not hookers.

The Best Chopper-Restoration Shops in America

Posted on by Team Penthouse

Zylstra Choppers

Grand Rapids, Michigan

Zylstra Choppers is a heartland gem for chopper lovers. Founded by Reece Zylstra in 2009, the once modest shop has grown to specialize in shovelheads, frame hard-tailing and repair, welding, fabrication, and machining. Find more of Zylstra’s work on Instagram: @zylstrachoppers 

Snodgrass Vintage Parts

Louisville, Kentucky

Run by Ivan Snodgrass, this vintage restoration and custom shop rebuilds choppers and sells hard-to-find individual bike parts. Snodgrass posts most of his rarities on his Instagram account, so they can be purchased at the click of a button and shipped right to your door. Check out the selection: @snodgrass_vintage_parts

The Dojo

Birmingham, Alabama

This custom shop in the heart of Birmingham is run by a bunch of bike-loving friends nicknamed The Haints, who party as hard as they work. It’s not the place to get your brakes fixed, but if you want to drink whiskey and blast Lynyrd Skynyrd while you watch your chopper turn into a purring machine, give any of the Haints boys a call. Find out more at @nickhaints, @haint_touch_this, @jbody, @6rambino9, @danieldaybowles, @activeuser1, @apeknuckles_haints, @beerbrains, @thingman, @robby.haints24, @shitstain, or search #teamhaints

Jackson’s Choppers

Austin, Texas 

Jackson’s Choppers offers a slew of services, including full bike builds (come with your dream chopper in mind—they’ll source the parts and bring your vision to the road), custom fabrication on frames, sissy bars, seat pans, and tank modifications. They also offer electrical, part installation, and mechanical repairs. Find more at jacksonschoppers.com or @jacksons_choppers

Slaughter Shack

St. Louis, Missouri

The Slaughter Shack’s motto is simple: Choppers only. If you want your custom chopper to come to life, go see bad boy Kenny Slaughter in the River City. Slaughter is a talented builder who can turn your old bike into the beast it wants to be with his unique, powerful one-off builds. Check out his bikes: @kennyslaughter

Bravetown

Chicago, Illinois

This collective of motorcycle enthusiasts is not your typical bike business, but a group of old friends (Rob Hultz, Brian Harlow, Jason Zeisloft, and Brad Reardon) who love anything on two wheels. “We ride what we build,” says Hultz. They’ve created a name for themselves specializing in ground-up builds of Harley-Davidsons, Triumphs, custom choppers, dirt bikes, and even vans, as well as metal fabrication and mechanical work. Check them out: @bobbygt, @rffr, and @casualjay

Our Favorite Garage Tools

Posted on by Team Penthouse

Who doesn’t love getting a new, high-powered treat for the garage?

MAKITA LITHIUM – ION CORDLESS CHAIN SAW

Maybe you don’t need a chain saw, but who doesn’t want one? This cordless Makita toes that fine line between need and want. With all the speed, agility, and power of a gas chain saw, but with 40 percent less noise, you can carve up logs in the backyard while the babes are sleeping inside. And with no engine oil to change, no spark plug to replace, and no muffler to clean out, there’s no way to go wrong.

EAGLE SILENT SERIES 20–GALLON AIR COMPRESSOR

Every man should have an air compressor, but something quiet is crucial. The Eagle Silent Series is quoted at 53 decibels from 25 feet away, which means you can work all night long and none of the neighbors will bitch. The Eagle boasts an oil-free double-piston pump system and anti-vibration feet, so you can drag this thing on all terrains without scrambling its insides.

3M WORKTUNES WIRELESS HEARING–PROTECTOR HEADPHONES

Heavy duty as hell, these noise-cancelling headphones are made to overpower the sound of your most obnoxious grinder. With Bluetooth technology you can stream music and podcasts from your phone or tablet without a hitch. Be a good neighbor by blasting entertainment for your ears only. Carol and Ed next door don’t want to listen to “The Joe Rogan Experience” with you.

DEWALT 9-GALLON POLY WET-DRY VAC

Light, compact, and extra powerful, this shop vac does the trick at just under $100. Forget sweeping up metal bits and wood chips from your floor when you have this thing around. It’s got rubberized casters for smooth swiveling and movement, as well as an accessory storage bag attached to the back, making garage clean-up that much easier.

MAKITA CXT BRUSHLESS CORDLESS DRIVER–DRILL

Every hobbyist needs a solid cordless drill, and the Makita is our favorite with its powerful, compact efficiency that pushes 280 pounds of torque. Plus, this portable drill runs on a brushless motor, delivering as much as 50 percent more run time on every battery charge.

The Best Spa Getaways in America

Posted on by Team Penthouse

THE CLIFF HOUSE

Cape Neddick, Maine

If you fancy a romantic New England getaway, you can’t go wrong with this stylish cliffside resort. With ocean views up the wazoo, this historic hotel has all the best modern amenities, including an outdoor heated pool and a 9,000 square-foot spa. Gorge yourself on local seasonal fare at the resort’s “farmer to fisherman” eatery, or at the seasonal, onsite lobster shack. In summer, there are fireworks every Sunday, followed by s’mores around a fire pit.

CALDERA HOUSE

Teton Village, Wyoming

A five-star Jackson Hole chalet, Caldera is steps from the tram, which zips you to the mountaintop in ten minutes. Each of its eight suites comes with a fireplace, chef’s kitchen, and living and dining areas. Come in the winter for primo skiing, then hit the spa for a massage, sauna, and dip in the heated outdoor infinity pool. In warmer months, there’s hiking, fly-fishing, and white-water rafting.

MONTAGE PALMETTO BLUFF

Bluffton, South Carolina

For some next-level Southern hospitality, this 20,000-acre community along the May River offers boating, fishing, a nature preserve, naturalist-led alligator “hunts,” and a Jack Nicklaus Signature golf course, among other diversions. Guest rooms, suites, and cottages with screened-in porches are available in and around the plantation-style inn, and the numerous bars and restaurants, concerts, and a world-class spa will ensure you’ll never want to leave.

SALISH LODGE & SPA

Snoqualmie, Washington

After a $13 million renovation, the WWI-era inn (also known as the Great Northern Hotel in Twin Peaks) emerged a sleek mountain lodge boasting one of America’s best spas. Thirty miles east of Seattle, it’s surrounded by hiking paths, biking trails, lakes, and golf courses. Each of its 86 rooms comes with a fireplace and spa shower or tub; if you’re lucky you’ll get one overlooking Snoqualmie Falls.

OJO CALIENTE MINERAL SPRINGS RESORT & SPA

Ojo Caliente, New Mexico

An hour north of Santa Fe, this southwestern oasis has been revivifying guests since 1868. Spend your days exploring a thousand acres of trails, then return for a yoga class and a soak in the mineral pools and mud baths. The spa offers extensive body-treatment options, with seasonal specials for couples. Stay at the historic hotel, or in your own private, pueblo-style cottage or house.

Image courtesy of Salish Lodge & Spa.

Our Favorite New Sex Toys for Couples

Posted on by Team Penthouse

Cresendo by Mystery Vibe

The Crescendo boasts that it’s the “world’s first luxury bendable vibrator that can adapt to any body shape.” Sounds pretty good, right? But this sleek, pliable rod is better than good. With six powerful motors and custom-vibration capability, the whisper-quiet Crescendo is perfect for every couple since it adjusts to fit both of you. An ideal starter sex toy. Continue reading “Our Favorite New Sex Toys for Couples”

Road Trip Right This Summer

Posted on by Team Penthouse

USE A PAPER MAP

Google Maps and Waze are great tools for when you’re trying to get from A to B in the city, but when it comes to making your cross-country dreams a reality, you need to go old-school. That means trusting a paper map. Digital maps only tell half the story, and you’ll miss out on all the exciting backroads and side streets that could lead to discovering something cool. Road tripping is all about exploration and seeing everything you can, so don’t deprive yourself. Spend the five bucks and get a paper map.

PRICELINE IS YOUR BEST FRIEND

Priceline, Hotels.com, Trivago, and all the hotel apps are going to help you out once you hit the road. Booking in advance isn’t necessary now that you can get a five-star hotel for the price of a three-star a few hours before check-in. These apps are made for road warriors, so take advantage of the comfort, luxury, and ease.

STICK TO THE SMALL ROADS

You aren’t going to find anything out of the ordinary by taking the freeway and stopping at some run-of-the-mill rest stop when you need to take a leak. Get off the main road and do some exploring. Getting lost is the point. America is chock-full of rustic mom-and-pop stores with the wildest trinkets, taxidermy, Americana, and vintage guns. Ask questions. You never know what you’ll find.

KEEP YOUR TRUNKS IN THE BACKSEAT

When driving across the country, you’ll be amazed at how many remarkable bodies of water we have in this great nation. Be sure to take a detour and dive in! Are you heading through Brattleboro, Vermont? Check out Indian Love Call. Find yourself in Texas? Be sure to map out Barton Springs in Austin. Want to blow your mind? Check out Hot Springs National Park in northern Arkansas. Sure, the hotel pool at the Loews Santa Monica has all the luxury one could want, but there’s nothing like jumping into fresh water in the middle of nowhere.

GET THE GASBUDDY APP

This app is one of the most helpful digital devices when you’re road tripping. It lets you know where the nearest, cheapest gas is so if you’re running low you’ll never have to fret.

PACK CAMPING GEAR

Even if you never plan on sleeping outdoors, we highly suggest you pack some rudimentary camping gear just in case. You never know what you’re going to come across, or if the mood to sleep under the stars will strike. Driving down the West Coast is heaven, and there are so many beachside places to stop for the night. Basics include a two-person tent, a roll-out mat, sleeping bags, pillows, a multipurpose knife, and a high-quality cooler for snacks and drinks.

MAKE SURE YOU HAVE AAA

This tip seems like a major “duh,” but you should never hit the road without making sure your membership is up-to-date. You never know when you’ll need a tow.

TASTE IT ALL

As you travel through each great state, be sure to taste the food of the land. Don’t go to New Mexico and have sushi. Get on your iPhone and find the best green chili the state has to offer. Eat lobster in Maine. Chow down on deep-dish pizza in Chicago. If you find yourself in Cincinnati, you have to try the Five-Way Chili. For those who are adventurous, get the Garbage Plate at Nick Tahou Hots in Rochester, New York. Map out your trip like it’s your very own episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, and go nuts.

KNOW HOW TO CHANGE A TIRE (AND HAVE THE TOOLS TO DO IT)

There’s not much more to say here. Just do it.

FIND A GOOD COPILOT

No trip is complete without the perfect copilot. This is the person who’s best at reading maps, locating killer hot spots, and picking the best songs. Playlists are going to set the mood and keep morale high on those long drives, so embrace the shuffle on Spotify and be prepared to get weird.

How to Tell a True-ish War Story in 2019

Posted on by Team Penthouse

War is hell, but that’s not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead.”

The great Tim O’Brien wrote that in The Things They Carried, his groundbreaking short-story collection about the Vietnam War. It’s been a couple years since I last revisited that book, but I was brought back to those lines recently when I traveled to rural Oklahoma for the wedding of one of my former soldiers, Smitty.

It’s been ten years since we served together in a scout platoon in Iraq, a number that defies memory, but there it is. Some days it feels like yesterday that we were walking the sand alleys of the sectarian villages north of Baghdad. Other days, it feels like a few years back—but a decade?! Naw, a decade ago would mean we’re old now. And that can’t fucking be.

A third soldier from our scout platoon, Chris, also attended the wedding. He’s been on two more combat tours since ours, and is still in the Army. Over some post-ceremony beers, he discussed the mind’s slipperiness of time, and why he still serves. “It’s always there, you know? Every day, every minute matters over there. It’s not the same in the States.”

Wise words from a career military man.

Hell. Mystery. Terror. Holiness. Death. All of that and so much more. As any military veteran can tell you, reunions like we had at Smitty’s wedding can be balm for the soul. I’ve spent a lot of my life since Iraq writing and reasoning and reckoning with what we saw and did. Many vets—most, really—don’t get that.

I’ve been blessed to tell our stories. Some vets don’t want to look back at that part of their lives, choosing instead to pack it all in and go forward that way. To each their own, of course. But even for an oversharer like me, there was something really freeing about trading old war tales with the men who were there beside me back when.

Our first firefight. The night with the IED emplacers on Route Lincoln. The time we rolled up on a post-car-bomb scene and found wild dogs licking up the scraps of a dead sheik. The wild, manifold smells of the desert. The tinny, mechanical sounds of the outpost. The scattershot images of the Iraqi soldier bleeding out on the examination table in the medic station, despite everyone doing everything they could, trying their absolute best, before the medevac got there.

Those missions and patrols have lingered with me for a decade now, and aren’t going away anytime soon. Turns out they’ve lingered with Smitty and Chris, too, and that shared understanding and experience (plus a few Bud Lights) loosened something in us all.

It felt like church, to be honest.

We tried not to dominate the after-wedding celebration, but we probably did. I feel bad about that now.

There’s danger in this kind of talk, though, talk soaked in good nature and fuzzy nostalgia. Time’s eased the burden of the moment. We know how the stories end: We live. Most of our friends do, too. As I watched others from the wedding gather around our table, listening in because they cared (a good thing, of course), I realized this was a microcosm of how modern America interacts with war.

War is something that happens over there, to other people, in other places. It’s foreign, both geographically and figuratively. So we three vets—me, Smitty, and Chris—our stories were conduits for everyone else. There’s power in that. There’s responsibility, too. How to talk about our time in Iraq without mystifying it, without romanticizing it?

It’s a fine line to walk. We all did our best, in our ways, I think. Telling it straight and honest and keeping it more light than heavy, given the circumstances.

Was that the right call, though? Tim O’Brien has another passage in The Things They Carried about this very dilemma. (Because of course he did.)

“A true war story is never moral,” he wrote. “It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done…. There is no rectitude whatsoever…. You can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil.”

I didn’t think of that passage at the wedding, only later. And it’s probably for the best, as there were kids around and their parents probably wouldn’t have appreciated my insistence on cursing while exploring the philosophical nature of men and evil. Still, it’s a complicated thing, and something that military veterans across America wrestle with when their friends and family ask them for a story, for a sense of life overseas, for a piece of over there.

Give what you can but nothing more. That’s where Chris landed, a couple hours and a few beers later, when everyone else had gone home and it was just the two of us, shooting the shit in the restaurant corner. Because he’s still in the Army, he’s more focused on what comes next than what happened.

“It’s all back there,” he said. “Not saying I don’t think about it, because I do, and it’s good to. But you can get stuck back there, if you’re not careful. It happens. I’ve seen it. They get stuck, brother.”

I wrote that down in my phone. It’s a good line, I thought.

I should use it in my next column.

“Hey,” I said, pointing to my phone. “Wanna call some of the guys?”

I meant fellow soldiers like C-Well, and Prime, and wild-ass McClure. We’d been talking about the other guys from our platoon all night—where they’d been, what they’d done that short decade ago. Inspired by Chris, I wanted to hear more about what they’re doing now and where they’re at. We both knew a little bit of their lives from Facebook. But that’s not real life. That’s not their voices. That’s not their now.

“Love it,” Chris said.

So that’s what we did.