My left cheek is against the cold sidewalk. My chin is burning after being scraped along the concrete. A knee is digging into my back. My right arm is pinned under my chest. With firm direction, the officer tells me to, "Stop resisting!" -- as if I have any choice regarding my limb's position. I know exactly how to conduct myself, having witnessed it so many times before. How the hell did I end up in jail? A radio reporter for 11 years in Toronto -- no stranger to covering police news -- I had suddenly become the story.