Capital Game

Somewhere in the following paragraph is the embedded name of a U.S. or world capital. Here's an example:

"Mom, I think Jack's on drugs."

The answer is (somewhat obviously) Jackson (Mississippi). Basically, the word can be divided by punctuation and spaces, but will never be separated by a letter, as in "Jack is on the drugs."

Just to make it fun, I'll place three in the paragraph below. Two will be somewhat easy- the third will be (hopefully) hell to figure out.

The day fell hot and sticky toward its eventual transformation into murky night. Becky watched as the sun set over the mountains, and thought about how the scenery was pretty enough to serve as a backdrop to one of those cheesy made-for-TV movies that polluted channels such as Lifetime or HBO.

"Is everything okay out there?" Her mother's voice rang out like a shot.

"Yes. I'll be right in."

The screen door closed and silence enveloped her once again. A quick rain fell, and she leaned her head back, taking in the solemn sacrament of nature in quick gulps. Spirituality fell in drops and struck her face in uneven, yet fierce blows. Satiated, her head fell back down to the earth.

It was the time she hated- the time to go in. The time to enter the kitchen and stand there soaking wet, feeling as if she had failed some sort of unwritten test. Paul never made her feel that way.

No. She wouldn't do it. She stood up, felt the rain on her neck, and headed for the garden. Versions of her life were put on sale most every day- this time she was putting herself off the market.

I lied- there ended up being five. Good luck.