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April 20, 2012
TODAY I LAND at a schoolyard in Greenfield. The teacher’s tickled pink, and the kids crowd, pumping me for the usual trivia: Who’s my toughest foe; do I have to eat; do I have to poop; am I stronger than a T. Rex; do bullets even hurt me; can I pick up the whole school?

One slight boy, alone, slumped on a stilled swing, studies his scuffed sneakers etching ant canyons in red dust. Beneath the cavorting, I hear his choked whisper: “Why’d you have to go and save Uncle Rob?”

God dammit.

— This is a job for the principal.