Dijeron “Hay que caminar. Ustéd no es de aquí.” They said “You have to move. You’re not from here.”
June 8, the first breach of my walls.
The rubble from the June 22 attack.
Went the distance, continuing my bad teenage martial arts habit of interposing my left arm and hand when danger is about to beat on my head. I bit the guy so my testimony about the choke hold, the wound I left on him and the neck bruise seem to be taken as evidence of “fighting like a girl” rather than support for an attempted homicide charge. This photo, taken by a friend at his house, the first prosecutor sniffed, is useless as evidence because her department didn’t take it.
At the hospital, finally, two days after the attack.
