Outside my door, there are at least a dozen police in full riot gear. I am a single woman, unarmed and five feet two. Every single one of the people standing before me, their faces disguised by helmets, their bodies shielded in Kevlar, has a weapon trained on me or on my home. A Latinx officer is the one who engages me. Someone tried to shoot up the station, he begins. We think they may be hiding in one of the Village cottages. No one is here, I say. Why are you shaking then? he pushes, aggressive but not nasty. Because your shotguns are pointed at me. Because all these guns are pointed at my
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