When the brutal agent of the State stood before me
and said, yes, loitering. I looked down at the murdered dead man on the
pavement who was no longer there because his body had been removed and replaced
with the face before me, twisted and broken and full of red and blotch and pain
and anger and clearly carrying orders from a higher authority to be followed at
all cost without consideration or question. That face was not responsible for
the dead man, I knew that, his face was not among the late night dogs swimming
in my memory.
