Two paramedics crouch over a man with a bleeding head. The man, his skull yellow-white under black skin, struggles and yells. Four police officers tie him down to a board. His head bleeds and bleeds.

“What happened?” someone asks.

“They beat him.”

“Who?”

“The police,” someone says.

“That motherfucker right over there,” someone else says and points.

Pudgy red face. Hair cut to messy stubble. Fists covered with black leather gloves. Wild, stupid eyes.

I know him. I don’t know him, but I know him. He tells anyone who will listen about helping people. About saving a woman from her abusive husband, about finding a lost kid, about getting a drunk off the road. But he’s lying. He loves his job because he gets to beat the shit out of people like you and me. He’s frustrated. When he was in kindergarden, he pissed his pants and the nickname ‘squirt’ followed him through high school. Nobody loves him enough. And everyday he pins a badge to his chest, straps a gun to his waist, pulls on black leather gloves with the limitless power of the state and is released into the streets.

Red and blue lights in your mirror. You’ll know him. The bright flashlight in your eyes. Keep your head down and your voice low. Do not question him. Do exactly what he says and you might make it home again.

Welcome to your police state. Don’t get too comfortable.