Needling of jabs, riddle of ducks and feints, you wait for a clear target. It comes, as brief as a spark plug's discharge, as a flash of knicker. You unload from the pivoting toes of the back leg, extend through knee, hip, ribs, shoulder, elbow – you are industrial, a piston, oiled metal pain. Misjudge and your attack could be countered, your nose smacked ice pack absent numb, worse, your blow could absorb like melt water into the padding of your opponent's gloves. -Angela Cleland