The ring of a British “fucking” being jabbered into a cell phone with annoyance by the first white guy I’ve seen since I’ve been here never sounded so good. I walked past him on my way into this shady abode, he was sitting in the lobby smoking lounge looking disheveled and annoyed. Maybe I shouldn’t have toyed with this one, maybe I should have stayed in my room but as fate would have it it wasn't done being cleaned, cleaning lady shooed me away back down to the lobby I went. God I fucking LOVE the universe. There were plenty of other places to sit. But the idiot cowgirl in me says “hey mind if I sit here?” Right across from him, I’m going to stare this guy down. Of course he doesn’t mind. How many pretty english speaking white women roll through here I wonder? First one ever, sitting right across from you. I’m not sure he believed my story. I wouldn’t have. This guy is an adorable mess. Leather bracelets, the necklace, vans shoes, fedora, messy hair… Total. Adorable. Mess. He’s a freelance journalist. Been here for 3 years. Immediately transported into a different world of “fixers” and the fact that Raqqa Syria is about to erupt…it is all very exciting. I feel like I can breath around this human immediately. His intensity wraps me up like a blanket, a safe place for the really fucked up. He’s clearly on drugs and I wonder what kind of tonics run through the veins of this warn torn country? My body vibrates with excitement at the idea of getting ripped up in a place I shouldn’t even be. Put it away Summers….put it away. There was a time I considered doing something like this. Everything about it is appealing. The thrill junkie aspect, the humanity, hopefully being able to make a difference in the bullshit that is spewed on mass media sources. Yeah I cried when I watched Blood Diamond, I’m that type. In comes the “maybe I shouldn’t have toyed with this one part”. In a place like Iraq it is easy to move around if you have the right connections. I just made mine. This is the guy that knows all the other guys. Want to get into Syria, he can do that. Want to go hang out in Mosul, drink a beer in a backroom ‘bar’, not a problem. Interview an ISIS prisoner, sure thing. Go on a mission into disputed territory with the Peshmerga it’s only going to cost you about $400 a couple days and they will whip you up a quick NGO or press pass….everyone has them. This was like dangling drugs in front of an addict. On some idiot mission to prove to myself humans aren't bad, humans share universal connections, joys, pains. Surely this, this would assure me of such. If a pretty blonde white girl who gets naked online for a living can walk around in Syria while they are breaking out into war….well, I dunno. It’s a hard thing to explain my need for connection in the darkest parts, to test the waters. After about an hour one of these “fixers” joins us. The guy who has an Iraqi visa and drives you over the boarder lands. The one who knows where safety is from ISIS and IED’s, has the contacts if you get stopped to get you out. This is surreal. I feel like I should be at home baking cookies, but scraping up against the forbidden, this is what I need. Making plans over overflowing ashtrays and used up coffee cups to go into ISIS territory. I head up to my room to grab some cash for the fixer. This is real. I already lost my driver when he tried to be inappropriate with me, what else am I going to do, I mean I’m in the goddamn Middle East? Fuck it. These people are tough. Humanity was born out of this shit hole. Lets just say my passport is probably flagged for life or something now.