A helicopter hovers overhead with a spotlight sweeping over a mass of cop cars. SWAT vans. Command tents. Gear. All things Black is not going to want to run toward. Can’t run toward. We’re never going to be able saunter into that parking lot, say: Excuse me, officers, if we could get in that car and be on our way. Maybe I could do that. This black guy I’m with, though? Lena? No way.
