Class War he declared in spray paint on the wall. Sirens and helicopters and news reports tumbled in our heads.
After the storm hit we walked out to assess the damage. Window replacement trucks lined the street; evening workmen held boards and hammered in nails. We walked a familiar city block, traded news and gossip with friendly strangers.
The cops moved in and out of street pockets, leading pedestrians through a maze. A man in a wheelchair screamed the New World Order into a megaphone on the corner. Second Cup served its last latte and bolted all the doors.
We ran forward then back, lost in public panic. The cops shouted North, then South, and North again, held up lines of shields to close off exits. We walked past a gaggle of mannequins in soiled linens, shattered glass, and the dim white glow of American Apparel.
Phone calls were made to lovers and lawyers, arrests of breach of peace. Cab home to fall asleep, hope to dream of peace.
*Photos from FlickR Creative Commons