Later, I learned about the attempted robbery and the subsequent search for two black men who got away. I guess, in the most general sense, I looked like one of those men. Knowing this, I can understand why I caught the attention of the helicopter's pilot. Still, that doesn't make me feel I should've been stopped. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth, dredges up the old stories, fuels the feeling of separateness that needs only the smallest slight to burn anew.
As I sat in the bureau that morning, a colleague reminded me that when she asked if I was ever scared to walk from the bureau to the Light Rail station, I had replied, half-joking, that I wasn't afraid of being mugged. I was afraid someone might call the police.