I COULDN'T TELL if she had plans to pick my pocket or to pick a fight. Or both. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I loved her.
Some ask me: How? How do you love someone who's looking for trouble? How do you love in the face of fear?
But honestly, I wasn't afraid. It was late, and the neighborhood was unfamiliar. And I was alone at a bus stop—alone until two women who appeared to be drunk wandered over toward me, arguing loudly. They were rough-looking—the tough type. One stayed behind me while the other moved in and sat down close.
