Like a cowboy at a rodeo, I sit atop my spot on the fence. A loudspeaker declares — first in Spanish, then in English — “Do not touch the wounded. That is the responsibility of health personnel.” A line of fluorescent-green-vested police sweeps down the street, clearing away drunks and anyone not fit to run. Then the cleaning crew and their street-scrubbing truck make one last pass, gathering garbage and clearing broken glass. The street — just an hour ago filled with throngs of all-night revelers — is now pristine, sanitized for a televised spectacle. It’s the annual Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Perched on the top timber of the inner of two fences (in the prime area reserved for press), I wait for the 8:00 rocket. Cameras are everywhere — on remote-controlled robotic arms, vice-gripped to windowsills, hovering overhead on cranes, and in the hands of nearly …