Leaning back against the bus, I smiled at the little guy. "Round one definitely goes to you."I touched my ribs as if the punch had done some damage. "...chmidge, that fucking hurt! Ding! Fucking Ding! Round Two."I gestured for him to come at me.He still didn't commit to his blows, instead going for a mix of speed and power. I looked over his head; my eyes would only slow me down. He punched and punched, almost a hundred blows in a minute. I met each punch with a Push-Wall the size of a bathroom. Her habit was white linen, with brown panels down the front and back, draped over her shoulders, and tied at the waist with a white rope. The tips of her black shoes peeped at me from under the long skirt. She had on a brown veil, and her white wimple was wrapped tight around her face like a bandage. A crucifix sat on her bosom. It was dark wood, with a silver Jesus on it, and it hung from her neck on a brown string. She had taken a vow of poverty, she told us once. A chain would be a. More

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