It was a brick with a piece of paper tied around it. Someone had written “Die you queer freaks” in big block letters. Words once again buzzed over me as the men discussed the futility of calling the police and wondered if another attack was likely. I clutched the brick in one hand and Johan’s hand in the other. I was mute. I didn’t know what to say in a world where people were hated and attacked for not being the right color, not speaking the right language, not worshipping the right god or not loving the right people; a world where hatred was the common language, and bricks, the only words.
