In the summer of 1997, I lived in Seattle. I worked at a temp job while preparing to start my master’s degree in the fall. I was walking to a bus stop after a day at the office, when I stepped into a pothole on the street and heard my ankle crack.
Feeling lightheaded and fearing I would black out, I limped in search of a payphone, and found that when I looked to passersby for help, no one stopped. I reached a corner and saw a young white man and woman with two kids. With tears in my eyes, I asked for their help. But like everyone else, they backed away and left me alone.