" Dr. Bar David?”
A young man with black eyes and curly hair came toward him. Carrying a digital recorder. He looked familiar.
“Richard Falco, North Richardson High. I took algebra and Calc I from you.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Good to see you.”
“I’m now reporting for Anchor Media. Just started a couple of months ago.”
David started walking away. “Good for you. What a good course of action.”
“Listen, I need to get a couple of quotes anyway. I wonder if—Oh, wait! I’m so sorry. You were at the North Richardson school shooting, five years ago.”
David nodded. And began to panic.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” the stupid student asked. “Protesting gun laws?”
“I really need to be going, now. Good luck with your interviews.” Hyperventilating.
Richard grabbed David’s shoulder. “But Dr. Bar David. Your story, tragic as it is, ends up being the reason for this whole public gun melting, right? A few words from you about—”
David lost it. “Listen! My whole life changed that day. When that meshugener killed my entire family, my wife and my son, in an instant! With a gun he purchased the week before!” David grabbed the kid’s throat. “I do not want to talk about it. Don’t mention me in your article. I will sue you! Leave me alone.”
Richard swallowed and nodded, fast. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry—”
David started shouting, “The bullets! The bullets! The bullets!”
His head pounded. His ears roared. "

― , Segment of One