A great clump of over-writing taken from this novel but vital to it

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.