I was waiting for the late bus—the only bus in the San Francisco Bay area making stops between midnight and 4 a.m.—sitting under the only working street lamp on the block. Not a person in sight. I sat listening to wind whistling through barbed wire. Fifteen minutes and I’d be safely riding home—if the bus was on time, and if I could brave the wait. But this was West Oakland, after hours. Anything that could happen would most likely be bad.
I took stock. No purse (good), $2.10 in...
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