The last I saw of her was a glance back as I was leaving. Her sad and knowing round face looked drawn between the web of fingers that curled around the chain-link fence separating us. I know she was trying not to cry. It must be like tearing off the bandage every time I come to see her. But, I also want to make sure she knows that I am here for her. Twenty more years. Do any of us know how long we have in this life? Should we be allowed to know the desolate future of being stuck in a routine for that long? Just kill me, I think. But, then, I realize the pretext and what that would mean for her and I change my mind just as quickly as the thought had come. 

She took the fall for something that represents only a shard of the truth. The players are so ingrained that the only way would be calculated infiltration and a very long-game plan that relies on people playing roles for nearly all of their lives. Can that be done? On a sunny day, I would say, “You do you.” But, in these cases, there must be the birds eye view: the Camera in the Sky, the Satellite. Those that can program and navigate the worst of the worst situations as the rest get eaten up in the churn. And the Masses sleep, unaware of danger. But, a necessary evil, you say. At what cost and on which authority?

When people cry for change, they don’t think down to that level. It is not as simple as writing a sign, standing in the cold for nine hours and screaming until you are hoarse, then meeting at Starbucks for the debrief. What a mess a life can make.