A couple of weeks ago, craving some solitude and union with nature, I went for a meditative walk in the deep fog and soft drizzle that had been ongoing for days in Northern California. Just two blocks from my home, a young man approached me, and I greeted him with a slight smile—until he got closer.
"Give it up," he said, and I heard a click. I glanced down, and there was a switchblade pointed at my belly. "What do you mean?" I replied. I honestly didn't know. But he restated his demand more forcefully and proceeded to pat me down.
I didn't have anything on me. "I don't even have a phone," I told him. He lifted up my raincoat and felt my jean pockets. Seeing that I was telling the truth, he dropped my jacket and then walked away. Just like that. And so did I.
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