Here in Portland, you can see three mountains, but we always just call them “the mountain,” and everyone knows which mountain you’re talking about. It's like “hey, did you catch the mountain this morning? Yeah, it looks great,” or “had a great weekend up at the mountain.” Everyone knows exactly which mountain you’re talking about. It’s all on the context. 

It’s the same with the term the fucker. It could mean the president, the fed pointing his gun at your head, or the undercover cop trying to act like he is with us at a rally. Everyone knows what fucker you are talking about. Again, it’s all context really. So when she turned to me and said, “Can you believe that fucker?” I knew she meant the one who just hit her in the stomach with his baton. But he didn’t know who the fuck he was dealing with. Because there is no person like Eve.

My knees went weak when she spoke to me. I had seen Eve most nights since the revolution started and found myself in awe of her, but this was the first time I ever noticed her seeing me. It didn’t last long, though, because then that same fucker knocked me onto my ass with a quick hit to my helmet. 

Let me start farther back, I think, to catch you up.