Non-classifiable
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In a quick movement, he filled my viewfinder completely. Before I could figure out what had happened, he had grabbed me by the shoulders. He pulled a ballpoint pen from his pocket and stuck the sharp end of it against my throat.
It hurt. Bad. I wondered if I was bleeding. If he pushed any harder, the pen could burst through my windpipe.
He continued, still sounding oddly casual, "Like I said. When I take this kid's camera and walk out of here with the videocassette, there is definitely nothing you can prove."
