…almost inside my door, in fact. Yes, I was fumbling with the keypad on our door, thinking about nothing in particular. But being rather under the viral weather, vis-à-vis my cold, and even slightly jetlagged still…not to mention just plain old, I barely noticed when a hand reached in front of me. And grabbed my wallet. I reversed my wheelchair quickly enough to send my iPhone flying. But so did the kid, which is who it was. He had an accomplice down the street who suddenly appeared from a doorway. And the two of them ran down the hill to the metro station and disappeared into a benign San Francisco summer afternoon. It was 2:30. I yelled first “help,” then changing tactics, “police.” Neither was forthcoming.

A neighbor appeared. And being a city, a strange neighbor. I didn’t know her. But she stayed with me throughout the post-ordeal ordeal. Because it takes a while to sink in, this sort of thing. And it’s not as though I’m not something of a veteran regarding street crime. I do know the possibilities. The worst of which did not occur. I lost my wallet and its contents. I lost an iPhone. When the police arrived they wasted no time soothing the crime victim, who by then was choking back tears. In fact, they urged me to go inside and use the Apple website to put a sudden and profound stop to any use of my purloined mobile phone. After that, another call to the wireless company T-Mobile should have put the phone completely out of action forever and ever.

I wanted to live in a city. I am living in a city. This is what happens. In troubled times, particularly. The trick is not to get bitter. Sometimes easier said than done. Stay tuned.