Hippies with Handguns
The past week has been this extended, dreamlike "I-told-you-so" moment. Nobody in the compound was ready for the riots when they hit again, this time full force, complete with squads of toughs who tried to charge into buildings and drag anyone in them out to the riot. If not, the unwilling were shot and killed. I've never seen anything like this in my life.

I've been manning our stockade for the past twelve hours or so. There have been a few attempts at breaking in or burning down our compound, but luckily we've met them blow-for-blow. I'm taking a breather now, probably a nap too. I can still hear the clatter of gunfire down the street - the police have been engaging rioters in gunfights and tear gassing the living daylights out of them. But still there is resistance. It's like war here.

When I came in off the stockade and ran to the bathroom to wash my face, I had to vomit. Valuable food, was my first thought. Then I retched again. The sink was covered in blood. My hands didn't look hurt, nor did I feel any pain anywhere in my body. I realized that this wasn't my blood, it was blood from the rioters who had just tried to break in. I can barely remember that I shot two of them, nearly point-blank, one in the arm, which made him retreat, and the other in the head. I shot a guy in the head.

And that's what it's like here, a nightmarish blur of violence, our guys throwing rocks and bludgeoning to death hippies with handguns. I know I won't be able to sleep much, but at least I can try. The entire compound is wired, but the windows are shut and nobody but armed defenders are outside. I can only wonder how our policemen friends are holding up. I haven't heard anything from the folks back home in Detroit, because their landline is dead and the cell seems to be off. But, Lauren's promised me one of her fantastic back massages, so I'm going to climb into bed and take her up on that. Good luck to everyone out there from sunny Ann Arbor - we're right there with you.