Out there. Up and exposed. Hot and miserable.

The expectation I had was of an unceremonious death on the hot metal platform and transmission under my feet.

The waves of humanity crashing around us in the streets as we carved through in overworked and overburdened heaps of makeshift metal and oil.

The smell of dirt, sewage, and exhaust heavy around everything. So heavy it clung to your skin and seeped into your clothes.

Just up and out there.

Showing aggression at every turn to keep them back and keep them safe.

Keep us safe.

Angry yelling and even angrier warning shots.

Hard braking and bruised ribs. Like surfing in a rock tumbler.

It always took a minute to feel in synch with the truck.

The grip of your boots meeting the grip of the platform.

And when the truck is wheezing it’s way up to max speed under all that weight, a little respite of hot air rushing by almost feels cool.

There’s danger up there.

There’s worry.

There’s nothing but you, weapons, and the hope that today will be a good day.

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