Ferguson, MO It jumps at our touch. We have been standing here for four hours and thirty-two minutes, the amount of time Mike Brown's body lay in the street. The rain licks our legs. All we want is two words: I'm sorry. Etched on the roof of the Ferguson Police Department is a map to find the great lakes. There's a sniper on the roof. From a distance it looks like he's smiling. What is one thing your grandmother taught you? He's all covered in salt so the ants don't eat his skin. The ants hate salt. They try to run away. He washed up on the sandbar. He dried up, and then he was stinky. We had to salt him. A black man lent me his purple umbrella, was arrested, and never came back.