We’re somewhere in a small seaside town, and there’s a bull that’s escaped from a wax-paper cage. It’s running wild through the town, indiscriminately charging bystanders and causing wreckage to any and all it impacts. Racing up narrow, twisted staircases which we thought would be safe physical deterrents. I’m terrified and slightly amused. How did this happen, this uncontrollable beast get set free like this? Who is to blame? What is going to be done about it?

It’s an African area. The millions of people, the paint-chipped handrails supporting lazy men, the sweaty odor, the large women carrying vegetables on their heads. The bull ignites the crowds, and they flee in panic, crushing each other to escape. Children are lifted up onto second-floor balconies, open areas in the crowd appear instantly as the threat continues unchallenged. Nothing can stop this wild beast, surely, from destroying every last column, doorway, person.

Someone has a plan. A hero among us. He rings the town bell. The bull appears momentarily stunned, in pain. It gathers itself for a charge on the bell-ringer, but he rings it again, loudly and constantly. The bull is overwhelmed, supplicating. It’s weakness is resonant sound! We chase the bull out of town with sound.

I am the bull, and there is rage waiting to be set free.


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