Las Vegas

"Straight, uppercut, and cross! Move, you're an easy target! Straight, uppercut, and cross! Again, come on!" Voices that seem to come from beyond, but this is the present. A silent spectator, at the Caesar Palace Stadium in Las Vegas. A nearby buzzing tells me not to move, but I do. Amilcar looks at me as one looks at something that once held desire but lost it for some reason. I realize I'm scared, and through the clots falling from my nose, I can feel alive. Rubito shoves a swab with acid into my nose that seems to pierce my brain. I can barely open my eyes and mutter. I feel the blood flowing from my nose to my throat, making me want to spit, but the mouthguard is a stone in the shoe of every boxer. It's hard to breathe and spit with the mouthguard, but it's not advisable to lose your teeth. No rule says you can't fight like this.

Falucho and Amilcar create a kind of human curtain and help me stand. Someone from behind holds me up by my jockstrap. They pour cold water from canteens, and the water drains through my pants. I see people mopping that opaque liquid out of the ringside.