I climb to the top landing of the stairwell, and freeze.
A dirty man sits there, surrounded by bandages, wrapping his bleeding leg.
“I’m going to need you to leave,” I say.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, standing and puffing up.
I click my radio, “I’ve got one hostile.”
“You’re a liar!” He says, threateningly.
I pull my baton, stepping back into a defensive stance.
He crouches down, parroting kung fu. It’s so comical that I laugh aloud, breaking the tension.
I put away my baton, and offering to help him leave, talk him out of the building.