After doing an interview this morning I promptly went back to sleep for another couple hours.  Peter and I spent most of the day waiting to see where we'd be going next.  Early in the afternoon we went up to the roof of the building we were in for a cigarette.  There was no real shade; we had to cower against the wall to keep out of the sun.  It was surprisingly peaceful, and Peter remarked that it was hard to believe we were in one of the more dangerous neighborhoods in the most dangerous city in the world.  On cue, a few gunshots rang out; a few seconds after that three small helicopters—I associate them with the US special forces and with private security contractors—buzzed past.

The guys we were with are mostly advising the Iraqi Army's staff officers at the brigade level, so we wouldn't have had much of a chance to get out on patrols.  By the end of the day they'd figured out how to hook us up with adviser units that are hitting the streets more often.  Early in the evening we packed up our stuff, tossed it in the back of a Humvee, and headed into Amariyah.  The guys in my Humvee had set up small speakers on top of their military radios and attached an iPod.  We spent a few hours driving through the neighborhood with rap, country and heavy metal in the background.  As night fell we drove past a mosque—the street in front full of Iraqi Police pickup trucks—to the sound of a steel guitar and honky tonk piano.

The atmosphere here is strange.  Kids chase after the Humvees, or wave.  The grown-ups mostly ignore the vehicles or glower.  As a lot of people have noted, the Iraqi Army seems a little more on the ball than the Iraqi Police.  But everybody's frank about the limits of what the military—Iraqi or American—can accomplish here.  The solution is political.  Everyone's been saying that since 2003 and it's still true.  I'll be writing more about the Army and the security situation here for Time.

We finished the night at a building that apparently used to be part of a palace complex for either Saddam's wife or one of his sons.  It now has kind of  frat house atmosphere—a big, dingy kitchen full of frozen pizzas and Gatorade, a decent TV, and guys hanging out playing Monopoly or just chatting.  Our accomodations—along with a few other guys from a unit based here temporarily—are down in the basement.  The soldier down there when we checked it out told a story about chasing down and killing a roach with his knife.  That said, it's air conditioned and seems like a decent spot to spend a few days.

And, once again, I'm surprised by the internet situation.  The guys have rigged up a couple computers and created a mini internet cafe, so I don't have to sweat outside while I use a BGAN.  Pete and I will be trying to get out with these guys as much as possible in the next few days.