I try to imagine

I try to imagine . . .

What it must be like . . .

. . . to be a 40-something man, kneeling, blindfolded, with a video camera pointed at me and a bunch of masked gunmen behind me.

But I just can't.

. . . to be listening to someone recite my death warrent in Arabic, while tears stream down my face and I rock back and forth, back and forth.

But I just can't.

. . . to be thinking about my sobbing 13-year-old daughter back in Apple Pie, Wisconsin, USA--or wherever the hell it is--knowing that she'll be replaying this scene in her mind every day for the rest of her life.

But I just can't.

. . . to be wondering what the hell I'm doing here in the middle of this gratuitous madness, this fiasco, and how it all came down to this.

But I just can't.