It’s punched so deep into his chest it’s coming out his back—damn, this woman must be strong!—and as he staggers backward, with a Herculean effort he pulls the post outta himself, releasing a geyser of blood straight outta a Japanese samurai film, it even makes a whooshing noise, then he turns, drops to his knees and falls on his face so we can see the weird widening circle of the big spreading bloodstain on the back of his white tee where the stake came out the back of his white body. It’s a fucking Jasper Johns target. I spend a lotta time at LACMA and MOCA—I know my art shit.