These days, it's better to look poor and be safe, than look rich and be a victim.

Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

A few years back, they jacked David Copperfield in West Palm Beach, for Chrissake. Yes, it's funny: 'Yo, empty your pockets,' and he pulls out a bunny rabbit. But it's also depressing. If someone who can make himself disappear isn't safe, who is?