My back is bruised from fighting you off. Elbows, heads, and shoulders pressing against me, trapping me. The punching and the yelling seemed so appropriate to you, though we all looked on in disgust. Your intoxicated enthusiasm pushing so hard. Someone grabbed on to my shoulders. I tried to steady myself as I felt a bit old for all of this. I put away my shooter and shoved right back at you. Get away. Get away. Get away. I pushed through to the edge, where the sanity seemed to be in abundance.