The day begins as most have over the last two months: wake up, check Signal, decide where and how to help amid the ongoing federal immigration occupation of Minnesota. Except that today, around 9:30 a.m., Minneapolis’s Uptown/Whittier rapid response chat is aglow with warnings. Another shooting, possible killing by the feds. In a different chat, a link begins circulating to a video of the apparent execution. It’s bad.

By about 10:30, I arrive at 26th & Nicollet, near where the Trump administration’s invading goons have fatally shot Alex Pretti. The air is already heavy with tear gas and ire. An on-site responder on a bullhorn announces that there are two medics inside of Copper Hen Cakery & Kitchen, the farmhouse restaurant and bakery. With my digits already seizing in subzero temps, I figure there must be hand warmers and head in.

Inside Copper Hen, an older pair of nurses introduce themselves. One asks if there are more medics in the building, explaining that he’s going to show us “right fucking now” how to treat someone impacted by chemical irritants. I tepidly raise my hand to join the fearful but now dutiful care team in the bathroom down the hallway.

The nurse is armed with no more than four pairs of purple nitrile gloves and a plastic water bottle. He instructs a woman in tie-dyed pink sweats, her eyes raging and red around their edges, to take off her jacket and sweatshirt, as any prolonged period with chemicals on your body can cause excruciating damage. The riled-up and activated medic continues his instructions.

Within seconds of treating our first patient, throngs of neighbors begin filing into the restaurant, choking on tears and snot from the blocks-long cloud of tear gas. The two bathrooms past the coffee bar are now filling up with our team, who instruct the new patients: First, gargle with water, then spit. Repeat. We each take a comrade into our hands, gently tilting their heads to the side so that water flushes the irritants down and away from their eyes. Turn the head in the other direction. Repeat.

Before long, all of the tables in the restaurant are filled with protesters, observers, and media looking like they just got off the worst ski-lift ride of their lives. We dedicate one table to some paltry first-aid kits; the staff is still hard at work, ferociously running around with cinnamon buns and coffee orders. This is our field hospital, but it’s also still a restaurant.