One thing we would do when I first went over to Iraq in spring 2003 was watch Sex and the City when we were off duty. We were located in Baghad International Airport, in a shelled-out bakery. It was a one-story, adobe building, high like a warehouse with a lot of space inside. Charlie Company had one section; Alpha Company had another; the officers slept across from us in another building. I slept in the area with all the women, but if I had to go to the bathroom—we had Porta Johns set up outside, I had to walk through someone’s sleeping area.