You lean in with your whole shoulder and someone on the far end of the axis shoves back just as hard. Mars, the fist that closes and charges, faces off from the meridian, the visible heading your work climbs toward. Drive and the public peak square up and call each other to account. Each time you charge at the work, something opposite plants its feet and makes you earn the ground inch by inch. Neither side yields on its own. Between the force you bring and what you put before the world, your public face gets tempered, built of held strain and the refusal to drop your arm first. The person across from you usually feels the shock before you notice your hand swung.