YOU pulled a gun and alighted from your puny car to kill a man armed with a bicycle. You shot him in cold blood while your little child was crying in the backseat of your car. Then you drove away, unaware that your bullet penetrated the body of a young lady. Tell me, do you even know what she looks like?

It appears to me that you are the kind of guy who walks with a swagger not because of what you have accomplished, but by association with an institution created precisely out of the need for peace, namely, the Philippine Army. Your car window displays an Army sticker. Your car’s glove compartment houses your gun. When the cyclist reached out to extend a hand to you, the gesture was lost—all you saw was his bike leaning against your car.

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