I’ve been shot. And, as it turns out, a bullet wound is even more uncomfortable than I had imagined. My skin is cold and clammy; I’m making a herculean effort to breathe. Torture is roaring through my right arm and making it difficult for me to focus. I have to squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and force myself to pay attention. The chaos is unbearable. Several people are shouting and too many of them are touching me, and I want their hands surgically removed.
