And after the black boy is strangled by police, after the protests where the man, his Rottweiler on an iron leash yells, let's go mash up dis city and another crowd bulks, the parents of the murdered beg us not to become the monsters some think we already are—even when the barista shakes her head at the banners, says actually, police be killing whites too. Look how scary it is to be here and know if we die someone will make a sound like her before earth is tipped over us. Who hasn’t had enough? Enough burning bins, pushing shopping trolleys into static and sirens? Who isn’t chanting enough, enough, enough, throwing spells, the rebellious holding what they can in front of a supermarket or police stations or voting booths—I am kind to the man sitting next to me in C.L.R James Library, even if his breathing disturbs me. Can we disagree graciously I am tired of people not knowing the volume of their power. Who doesn’t deserve some silence at night?