I slowly pedaled up the Dexter hill as dawn opened up into morning. The usually bustling road lay empty at this hour. I looked around and saw nothing; no cars, no busses, no other bikes. A man walked toward me on the sidewalk. He started yelling just out of earshot, getting louder as I drew closer. "...she won't respect what I say, SO I KILLED THAT WOMAN! I KILLED HER! and no woman will...." His fists violently pumped as I lost earshot biking away.

People walk the streets, yelling obscenities and imagined arguments all day long downtown. After years of working in the city, the yelling has become a part of the soundscape, a thing no less expected than sirens, honking, and engine noise. It's a guarantee with every trip. Also guaranteed, is the safe feeling of being surrounded by a crowd. Downtown, I am never out of eyeshot of several other cars and pedestrians. It's an admittedly misguided sense of safety, but mental instability and other shapes of human suffering is diluted by the populations of the privileged and busy.

Being alone with someone like this, on a street with no cars or other visible people, takes on a whole new feeling. Sure, I had a speed advantage being on a bike, but I was going up a hill, and he had plenty of leverage and proximity to throw something into my spokes. His fist pumping made this option seem plausible. I felt fear, since his anger was directed at woman. But more I felt curious, as I usually hear the word "bitch" in place of "woman." Since he coupled that switch with the word "respect" it made me wonder about his story, and I felt sad that my fear, socialized culture of isolation and rush to work kept me from ever finding out.