As I watched the legions of uniformed militia/police in the chase, I thought of my six year old son, PJ’s video games, how the faces are obscured and the armor distorts the human shapes. I also thought what must be going through the suspect kid’s mind, the rabbit on the run. Like, “How the hell did I end up in this mess?” Kafka and Alfred Hitchcock had it all figured out long ago. Accused and under attack and you can’t restart the game. The testimony of his classmates and coaches (he was the captain of his high school wrestling team, a good student, a community volunteer), the pleas from his friends for him to give himself up, ending with a loud assertion from one of his team mates, a fellow wrestler, that “We all love you, Joe-Har, we all love you!” Heavy confrontation. I gained no extra respect for the “law enforcement” side of things. They were playing for keeps. Just following orders, you know. At least they held back on the drones.
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