25LanceGoddamn it!
I’m thrown to the opposite side of the street by the sheer mass of the crowd. I make to step forward, but the marching men and women form a wall. Each time I make to pass through it, I’m met with another marcher, their legs moving like soldiers on parade. I grit my teeth and make to push through the crowd. It’s mean, sure, but I’d be a hell of a lot more than mean to get to Felicia. But I don’t make it to the crowd. I feel a hand on my shoulder, a huge, paw-like hand. Bear? I think.
That’s what does it, that split-second of hesitation.
I turn and the man—not Bear—punches me directly in the nose. The people around me are so caught up in their festival they don’t even notice. Blood sprays from my nose, down my shirt, and the man hits me again. I stumble backward and the
