We pushed over the copper statue of Christopher Columbus. When it was done, his green elbow was lodged into the earth. Someone had already spray painted ACAB in white letters across his chest. We cheered when it had happened, then followed someone with a microphone, chanting about freedom. 

The next day, the statue was gone. Someone from the city, we imagined, had come and loaded it into the back of a truck. Leon said he was disappointed that the statue had been taken away. We wanted to keep it there, toppled over like a warning.