If there’s even such a thing, the Witness Protection Program has the Fight Club rule that we can’t talk about it. It’s a unique lifestyle, I mean, if there was one it would be something I’d’ve sworn a binding oath not to reveal, share about, elucidate, shine a light or even nod my head in agreement if you guess close on how these Feds keep us safe from murderers whom we ratted on. Allegedly. Former co-workers and sometime co-conspirators nursing permanent grudges from their holding cells and sites of house arrest. It’s a super chance to see other regions of the U.S. and not end up killed for wearing recording equipment beneath our shirts or face twenty years to life. ‘It’s nice’ is what I’ll leave it at, if my censors can allow a vague-book thumbs-up statement to stand unstruck. Digging my new name.