It happens on a random Monday. Coming back from an event or a late Sunday night right before you get on a plane and you're about to be frisked for the third time. You're driving, you're flying, you're sitting with the guys from the team. You're drinking stale coffee trying to stay awake. You're explaining the fat welt on the side of your neck to a confused stranger or a best freind. You're coming back to the life, the one without paintball. Where no one understands why you do it. You're tired, you're work ... (more)