Today is my first day of work in the office. Gray light in a gray room talking to the children. I’m not the same cloth as the other employees. It occurs to me that listening to Clint Mansell before going is maybe not the best of ideas. The music tears into me, demanding that I dress in flowing black and set my hands afire. Miracle spectacle. Quick spray of canvas sealant and the snick of a lighter. The fire lasts if you do it right. Flame blazing and bright. I would be in New York today if I could be anywhere. I’d like to watch the place go crashing down. People have been flooding the downtown core. Tourists who stepped out for a play have joined peaceful protest and been arrested. There will be a victory there somehow, over the internet even I can taste it. Stride down the middle of a street and be certain the fire goes nowhere near my hair. Silent but for the hiss of my fingers stretching out and dripping with heat. Heavy as swallowed stones. It’s not anger, no – it’s harder. Hate is for those who don’t have anything powerful.