Ten days before the fatal stabbing on Robertson and 18th, I sat in a home nearby and wrote:
I’m in a dangerous part of town. Goy town. Rabid dogs all around off their leash. Why should their owners give a damn if I’m frightened? Life is cheap below 18th Street.
The walk home is 1.1 miles. What will I encounter? Wild beasts. Snapping jaws. Lunging hatred. Timid beautiful white boy is easy prey. Do the same rules apply south of Cadillac? What is life like here? I’m next to a school. That’s a good sign. I’m going to run home. I’ll get to Robertson Blvd as fast as possible and once I’m beside the traffic and the lights, I’ll be safe.
