His suggestion is cut short, as Andrea flings up an elbow that smashes into the man’s clenched fist. The gathered crowd grimaces in union from the sounds of his finger bones snapping. The knife drops from his limp hand. She catches it by its sharp blade, and kindly offers it, handle first, back to him.

The injured man, with watery eyes, first looks at the blade handle, then with his good hand, grabs it. His hopes of its razor sharp edge slicing deep into her palm are dashed when the steel blade does not budge from within her curled fist.

Instead, Andrea squeezes, and the metal crunches in her hand. She lets the mangled and blood-free shards drop to the floor, while the man is left holding just its handle.