So I do. From the start, in all the gory detail. Frag, I know Drummond would have my nuts for cuff links if he knew, but Drummond can eat drek. It’s my hoop that’s out here hanging in the breeze, not his. Anyway, Cat’s Star. And our past history probably isn’t in the Lone Star Seattle computer system—if anywhere, it’s back in the Milwaukee files. (Does it sound like I’m trying to rationalize something? You got that, omae.)