There I was surrounded by the lot of them, black, white oriental and older citizen - all here to defend their so-called "rights".

They started in at 10:55 and never stopped coming. It was Memorial Day. It was warm and rainy outside, warm and blurry inside. If you think about it, it was just a day. A ferocious day that bit at your ass like a mangy mutt with a life time of shit ground into it's fur like a homeless Rastafarian's doo. It was just a day.

They came at me from the left, the right and straight up the middle - their beady little eyes burning holes into my forehead. I took care of them one right after the other, never more than one at a time. That would be too dangerous, would leave me too much in the open. Yes, one at a time. That is the secret.

It all build up to a big pussy pimple of a situation when I was forced to eat and take a shit. I was backed up seven photo orders on the one-hour machine. Everybody and their little old mother wanted a new watch battery and band. They wanted me to show them how to load film into their camera. They wanted me to write them out a fishing license. They wanted me to sell them CD's and jockstraps, picture frames and batteries. "Where's the restroom?" - "Where's the car fresheners?" - "How do you get back into the mall?" - "I need to return this phone." - "How much does it cost to develop a roll of 24 exposures?" - "I would like to look at this watch." At 16:23:13 I called in the FPF. The rounds fell like rain. 50% HE quick/ 50% VT... They all were screaming and bleeding. I sat back and lit up a Doral. I didn't smoke before today. But then again neither did they. The artillery of the mind. Our saving grace.