Hi. I'm a bullet, zooming through the air. The gun I was fired from was a cop's. An angry/scared white cop. Guess where I'm heading? I regret being here. I'm hollow-point, designed to expand when I hit and explode like a bomb. I hope the unarmed person of color I'm heading for isn't a 12-year-old playing with a toy in a park, or someone reaching for their wallet or a bottle of pills. They'll probably say the victim was coming at them with a knife, and that a struggle ensued. What I really regret is ripping into the body of a black man and having the white cop say, "The gun just went off."

I'm not magically here, though, speeding through the air. It might be a short flight if the unarmed target is at close range. I was cocked and loaded into the chamber. When the cop pulled the trigger, the hammer dropped and pushed a firing pin into my primer, causing a little explosion and igniting the powder that shot me off. I didn't have a choice; it's like a chemical reaction. These white cops, they have a choice. I think it's time to start talking about their chemicals and reactions.

As a bullet that's tired of ending up in innocent black bodies, I want someone to invent a smart gun that shuts off when threats aren't real. Until then, these white cops shouldn't even be shooting sponge balls. It's time for white cops to put more thought than fear into the finger on their trigger. Because a white cop's fear shouldn't be greater than a person of color's right to life.

Ten Other Regrets: I regret that Chop Suey may be closing. I regret that Riz Rollins, Jodi Ecklund, Brian Foss, Jackie Hell, and Sharlese Metcalf do not run the city of Seattle.

I regret not hiding my bobblehead of the Pope with a swastika on its forehead when my very Catholic neighbor and her 9-year-old daughter came over.

I regret trying to free the geoduck at Sea Garden.

I regret asking Prince's publicist if they could mail me some of Prince's fingernail clippings.

I regret accidentally texting "LICK MY FUCKIN BUNGHOLE YOU MICROCOCK" to my mother.

I regret asking Rob Zombie if I could touch his beard.

I regret touching Billy Gibbons's beard before the ZZ Top show and saying the word "suckle" to him at the same time.

I regret touching an Alderwood Mall security guard's face when we were alone in the lost-and-found office.

I regret letting GWAR drummer Jizmak da Gusha touch my face after their show. He was sweaty from drumming in the costume and had scratched his crotch at length.