You may already know I’m a night owl. I’ve made a career out of it. It’s about 3:00am here and I decided to walk the dog. Given my proximity to Atlanta’s urban centers it’s not unusual to see a vagrant walking along the street late at night.
Almost exactly one year ago a crime wave haunted the area, with several particularly violent incidents on the road I was walking on moments ago.
I see him a hundred feet away, moving in my direction on the sidewalk along a now empty four lane road. I tense up and glance to my house. It is considerably closer to him than me. My shoulders light on fire with anticipation. I clench the dog’s leash. The man sways left, then right. He jerks forward. He’s taller than me. He has a mohawk. If I hurry I can make it to the house just before passing this erratic and threatening addict. He’s out when no one but me should be out.
We’re both ten feet from my driveway, twenty from each other. Despite the obivous danger the dog remains both cute and oblivious.
I brace myself for confrontation as we make eye contact, his bizzare contortions fueling my worst fears. I can almost see the methanphetamines coursing through his veins. Quiet, rumbling music I’ve never heard before rolls through the iPod. I can probably outrun him, but to where? I didn’t even bring my cell phone.
His hands raise, first towards me, then up into the air. The gesture is as fluid as it is sincere - he bows to the ground like a Muslim at prayer.
Disarmed, I ask, “Are you OK?”
“Yes, father.”
And I quickly stepped down the driveway.
