He approaches the burning bridge. The soldiers turn from tossing branches onto the sizzling entrance. A post crumbles.
"We've got it under control, Capitán," one man says.
He watches another post fall -- the last tall structure. Then he nods and walks away, slowly, off stage.
Someone raises champagne to him later and he smiles slightly when someone else cracks open a beer instead. He sleeps with someone else and burns a bit. Not as much as he'd thought. It doesn't really matter.
He drives to work the next day and a small, staticky song plays. He'd made her shake and crumble to this song. Once and many times. He had burned. Once and many times.
He switches stations for a song with clear and cold anger.
"We've got it under control, Capitán," one man says.
He nods, slowly, and walks off stage.
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