I throw the hot water in his face--it'll cool soon, can't be saved up. In the moments he's blind I use my other weapon, but I can't subdue him, and once he recovers, I'm in trouble. A minute later, I'm still alive, but utterly on the defensive--he's so much bigger. Just can't rattle him and re-sieze the initiative. Frustrating.

But not devastating; for by custom, the kids in these duels are assumed to be dead already, by signing up; that's how poor the odds are. And I knew it. But the payoff was big enough to get me a life, and street kids in this cruel society don't last long.

I was already doomed; I had nothing to lose. I'll fight to my last breath.

• Volunteer for risky activity: today our band the Krelkins practiced all our least-ready songs. Educational but humiliating.
• Retiarius: I only know this term because Kurt Vonnegut's play Happy Birthday, Wanda June makes a running joke of it. My friend Alder picked up a free copy of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five today, bringing him to mind...
• Duel in a Roman arena: echoes Saint Perpetua's dream-duel 1800 years ago, as she prepared to be eaten by lions. She knew it to be a spiritual duel, not just for her own soul, but for others who'd take courage from her example.
• Big thug whose main weapon is a net: Donald Trump, whose main strength is... the Net.
• Fight the Net-wielder: I fear Trump will be president again; he's threatened to declare an emergency and occupy liberal cities like mine. I won't be dueling him personally, but it's quite possible soldiers will soon be threatening me on my street--or in my home.

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