Activism & Social Justice
The skinny dude looked frightened. "I think my boot's stuck," he whimpered.
The bear took another swipe, this time catching the edge of the guy's jeans. They tore easily. The bear grunted deep in his chest. Now the terror stood out on the skinny dude's face.
There was a playful combat everywhere. I didn't have time to look around, but there had to be close to a hundred people around me, yelling, laughing and swinging their pillows.
On the edges of the battle other people watched. THere were grown-ups holding their kids by the hand or loaded down with shopping bags, looking stunned or amused or confused. Some laughed and pointed, and others hurried away like they were scared. There had to be almost as many people watching as there were participating.
One of the pillows burst, and a million white feathers shot into the air like a billowing cloud! The crowd—watching and fighting—erupted into gasps and screams and laughter.
I picture him in his dirty clothes, with his knotted hair, and I feel annoyed. I am tired of feeling bad for him. It isn't my fault he was the way he was.
