An Asian classmate stands alone; his shoulders slumped in defeat; his face dissolving in servile submission; corrosive tears venting from his eyes.
And I stood nearby; my feet shackled in fear; my mind boiling with vile indecision; condemning my friend by doing exactly nothing.
Two decades older now, I smile weakly at the man walking next to me. The sign he holds says "I am not a virus". And we march together, with mobile precision.