He came across the border. Shot my people dead. His safety and security gets more attention than that of those who still struggle to work, past that very floor, mopped clean of the blood that refuses to let go of their minds.
He crushes lives with a bus. His life is saved from fury for the sake of a fair trial. Intelligentsia seeks rationale before the TV and behind the newspaper. Arguments fatten files, fed by uniforms. Victims shrivel, denied love and living, shuddering at the sound of every engine.


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