Kids pedaled bikes along dusty streets smeared with the buttercup glow of sunsets. There was no traffic. There were no stoplights. It was Jane Jacobs with a sun tan. 

Imagine running as hard and fast as you can. Doesn’t matter where you go, just away. Legs compels you forward. Your lungs burst in flame. Fear transforms to trajectory and then — finger snap! The road vanishes.

It’s hard to unspool the story of a journey when you don’t know where you’re going or how long it’ll take or if there’s enough gas to last until the next station.

The cycle of racist violence never ends because the cycle of consequence never begins.