by Adam Straus Spenser Sembrat We’re The Three Justins and we live together. It’s like we’re back on deployment; the apartment’s walls are covered in mud we got shipped over from Afghanistan. Inside we stand post, clean weapons, and rest at staggered intervals so someone’s always awake. Red lens-only after nightfall, stand-to at dawn and dusk. No patrols, though. Not enough manpower. Instead we take target practice at photos of ourselves pinned up against the walls. The thick