On the night of my graduation from university I was assaulted as I walked to the taxi rank in town. Someone walked up and punched me in the jaw for no reason except that I was walking alone. I called the police to report the crime and they said that looking for my attacker would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The following day I called a friend who worked as a journalist at the local community paper and explained what happened. "That's terrible," he said. "What can I do?"
"You should write a story," said I. "It'd warn people about the danger when walking through the city late at night."
"Jase, it happens every day," he replied.
The meaningless act of being punched in the head had an ongoing impact upon me. I flinched when a drunk stranger walked toward me one night to ask the time. He saw my reaction and gave a sympathetic response. When I moved to the country I'd freeze when being abused from passing cars as I walked the street. (Abusing people while driving along the main street on a Friday or Saturday night is something of a sport in country towns.)
