He calls me to play with him to admire and also fear him and his weapon.
He corners me and takes aim.
I stand still in non-violent protest, expecting he will not really shoot me, and take this picture, distracting him.
As I type this on my balckberry and slip the story to you like a note passed between friends at desks, he is moving his offensive front in another direction, rolling down the hall towards his sister.
As far as I am concerned, she's on her own. (No mutual defense pacts here.)
Now I'm going back to folding laundry, peacefully as usual.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T