Member-only story
Why I didn’t call the cops
I was assaulted on the street, but I didn’t think the police would make things better.
Afew days ago, I was walking down the street by my apartment, and I heard a commotion up the block. Someone was yelling. I didn’t think much of it. In Seattle—or in any big city—it’s not unusual to come across random conflict in your day to day. As I turned onto the cross street, this guy came up from out of nowhere.
He was a white guy. Not old, but not that young, either. Maybe early 40s. He didn’t have a shirt on. Muscular, but not big.
Noticeably agitated, he started hitting me up for money with a kind of aggressiveness I’d never seen before. “Hey man! Hey! You got any change! Hey!”
He was closing in on me really fast.
I turned him down politely. In 99.9999 percent of similar situations I’ve been in, that’s the end of it.
But he kept going.
I could sense him walking up behind me really closely. I tilted my head sideways, and I could see him out of the corner of my eye.
He was holding one of those little cloth drawstring backpacks with both hands above his right shoulder.
Then he came up on my side and started asking me for money. I told him calmly…
