We would have been so happy together, I know it. That spark of connection, the way my heart leapt to see her, the sound of her laughter when I’d made some particular joke or other: that’s the basis of a real relationship. What could Escamillo offer her? Fleeting, fading. Physical chemistry, cheap economics. I offered love, pure love, and that wasn’t enough. Should I have simply swallowed her insults? Accepted her abuse? Did I not have the right to defend my honor?

We were worried for our lives, the fourteen of us, a wall of fragile human meat surrounding a four thousand pound truck. The look in her eyes when the brake lights went off… there was fury there, and madness. Bloodlust. We had to protect ourselves. Make it home again tonight safe, that’s what they tell us; whatever else happens, make it home safe. Should we have stood there and let ourselves be run over? She thought we weren’t serious and we had to show her.

We have been so kind, so restrained; we have lethal weapons, but we never use them, are not allowed to use them. And what thanks do we get? Rubber bullets may smash the occasional eye, but you can live without an eye. Tear gas may have been banned in war, but this isn’t a war. They say it is, but if it is, we’ll win it. They think we’re a joke, and we have to show them we mean business. There is no hunting like the hunting of men. We didn’t make them come here. We didn’t make them poison the city against us. They did that on their own.

What choice did we have? Were we not within our rights?