Presented without comment, I suppose. The part that hit me hardest:

I can remember folding uniform shirts in a laundromat as a story about a man killed in a particularly egregious police shooting played on the TV news. One that should never have happened, one where we straight-dope fucked up. Everyone in the place was riveted, and just as our union chief came on to deliver his rote, empty, exculpatory platitudes they started to notice me and what I was folding. I felt sure they all hated me and all suspected, in that moment, that they had a right to.