"The ones who have forgotten have their memories growing where their heads should be." -Mathias Svalina, from Destruction Myth

Movement

I tripped over a stick on the sidewalk in the park. Listen here, stick I said. I’ve had about enough of you. I picked the stick up and began snapping all the little twigs off of it. A policeman approached me. Excuse me, sir, but what is it that you think you’re doing he said. Teaching this stick a lesson about vengeance I said. You’re in direct violation of the law he said. This is assault. I’m going to have to take you in he said. Not before I’m done with this one I said, nodding my head in the direction of the stick. The policeman advanced on me, cuffs in hand, only to trip over the stick. Oh, funny guy, eh he said. He drew his revolver. You’ve got to teach these bad ones early, or they turn out like this he said. I nodded gravely. This one seems to be too far-gone I said. A real miscreant. Sad what this park has become he said. I met my wife here and I used to bring my children to play here. If I were ever to meet a wife and have our children play somewhere, it couldn’t be this park now, with the state it’s in I said. We both hung our heads and looked sadly at the stick. We simultaneously bent over and reached for the stick, grabbing it at the same time, and bumping our heads into each other’s as a result. Wise guy, huh the policeman said, dropping his end of the stick and pointing his revolver at me. Though guy, I see I said, dropping my end of the stick and pulling my revolver out and pointing it at the policeman. From the other side of the park, a woman pushing a stroller came charging at us. In the stroller, she was carrying a shotgun. This was becoming a very interesting Tuesday afternoon.