I’m already hunkered down in the best of the lot, a small booth outside a restaurant where I figure the valet parking slots hang during the day. Without exposing myself significantly, I can see more than halfway north across the bridge, as far south as the overpass that crosses Highway 520, and a full block both east and west along East Shelby Street. The only kick I’ve got against it as an overwatch "nest" is that the fragging place isn’t heated. No matter where I crouch, there’s always an icy draft blowing down the back of my neck.