He's had decades to grow that immense pair of balls. But the little kid - with his mad scientist goggles, yak fur sash and presumably wise-cracking horse - is still holding his own, even in the company of a man who looks like he's going on robot safari. As children, we complained when our GI Joe didn't come with all of the packaged accessories, and here's this little kid, jury-rigging mountain-gear so he and his post-apocalyptic sniper/father can

If I were China, I would be intensely worried by this picture, because it is quite obviously prophetic. One glance, and we all know how this is going to play out: At some point the father will sacrifice himself, likely while shoving a clockwork handgrenade down the throat of a screaming Chinese steam-yeti, and the son will be forced to grow up half-feral in the merciless mountains, periodically emerging to fire-bomb guard outposts while delivering sermons comprised of equal parts howls and headshots.

But all this still leaves one question unanswered: If the guy in the back isn't, in fact, hurling that little girl across the room like a precocious ninja star, what is he doing? Well, he could be doing anything - practicing his own forms, or advising the unlucky opponent in proper defense strategies, or just sneezing at a hilariously inopportune time - but we all know that's not the case. He's just doing exactly what we'd be doing in his place: Flawlessly executing the Chris Tucker "aw! You got knocked the fuck out!" maneuver.

In fact, her whole village has to take this dilapidated, rusting cable, precariously strung roughly the height of the empire state building above the valley floor, because it's simply the only way to get around. There are no roads or bridges to their village, and not enough people live there to warrant further construction. So to get to school, Daisy straps on her self-built hook and harness, grabs the bit of stick that is her only brake in one hand and her travel sack in the other, then hurtles down a rattling steel cable at highway speeds across certain death.

Oh, and that travel sack? It's not school supplies or lunch or any such nonsense; it's her 7 year old sister, who's too small to take the zip line herself, so just

Some of the kids laughed and played at fireman, some were even allowed to hold hoses, while some simply listened to lectures. But some children were not content with games. Some children did not respond to logic, or reason. Some children did not want to play, learn, or listen.

Some children? Some children just wanted to watch the world burn.

Zoe was one of them, but she was far from alone...

So not only was he actually standing out in that street, alone, hurling rocks at the police (which is way more impetus than they need in Sao Paulo to beat some ghetto kid to death,) but he was so overcome with rage afterward that he stripped to the waist, slammed his jacket to the dirt, puffed out his chest and dared them to make a move. This was not a joke, or a childish prank. This was life or death.

Literally.

The photographer has this child tagged as a 'street boy.' That's not a generic descriptor. In Sao Paulo

And while that knowledge is incredibly awful, and gut-churning, and heart-dropping, and just makes you want to burn this whole miserable species to the ground and hope that nature knows enough to start from scratch this time, it also drastically magnifies the importance of this image.

This is not the same as a white, English-speaking child playing at revolutionary because he's got the implied protection of society. This boy is not joking, and he is not safe. If he's really a 'street child,' then those cops he's challenging are the men that might make half a week's pay for murdering him, and would face little to no reprisal for it. And if he really is a 'street child,' then he is utterly alone up there: It's unlikely any of the other people in those photos have a vested interest in whether he lives or dies.

And he simply does.

Not.

Care.

Because there is nothing on this earth - not overwhelming odds, nor brutal police states, nor fear, nor violence, nor the kind of horrible, devouring apathy that makes things like death squads for children possible - that will ever, from now until the heat death of this whole screwed universe, force this kid to sit down and put his fucking shirt back on.

If you were going to spend any time looking for places to follow Robert or buying his stupid book, please instead spend that time visiting and possibly donating to a fund for street children, like Action for Brazil's Children.