i was pulling your door closed, several sets of boots stomped through my living room. three cops appeared at the mouth of the hall, trapping me. all three had their weapons drawn. still holding the gun, i put up my hands.
“listen, sir, my sons are in the house,” i said as i bent to put the gun on the floor. you both were shrieking with fear.
“do you have any other weapons on you?” he asked.
the cop pressed me hard against the wall, and pain flashed through my bruised chest. as he searched me roughly, i stayed passive and compliant. he was twice my size, but if he’d shot me, they’d 