As we jostled for position in the airport check-in mosh pit I noticed an older man in a wheelchair who seemed to have trouble finding his way. 
 
"I wonder if we might not want to make room to let this gentleman pass," I suggested to a frazzled stranger. 
 
"Screw that," he replied. "If God had wanted him to have special rights he never would have put him in a damned wheelchair, would he?" 
 
In that single, bitter capsule I tasted the seeds of book burnings, hate crimes, and the false prophets who have violated the trust of a generation in the name of nationalist entitlement. 
 
Special rights indeed.  
 
I'm embarrassed enough for both of us. Carry on.