I am with a large group of noisy veterans in a crowded restaurant. A menacing black man approaches. We argue. He begins shooting me point blank in the hip with a forty-five automatic, taunting me with every shot. I am screaming, "Stop it. Stop it." Then I capitulate. He is right. I am wrong. I sense the bullets have missed my vital organs and that I will live. The next day I return with Ed W., who is dressed in full combat gear. I find the black man. With a small pair of scissors I quickly stab each lung twice, then puncture his heart. The skin of his chest fills with blood. "I'm sorry," I say, mocking him. "I'm so very, very sorry." I continue to taunt him until he is dead.