A man at the Mall of America threw a little boy over the side of the walkway, down something like three stories, hard onto the marble floor below, last I heard he was still alive but needing surgeries and surrounded by prayers. It’s trust, you know, that keeps us safe, keeps cars on their side of the yellow line or moving out of the way if another driver makes a mistake, like yesterday when the snow was falling but not sticking on Highway 88 outside of Chicago and a blue minivan had to maneuver out of the way of the pickup truck driver who almost missed an exit and slid across two lanes of traffic right into the path of the blue van which moved away like a mother dog dealing with a litter of puppies searching for her teats, patiently, veering to the right, slowing down, not angry, just moved, with a kindness you don’t usually see in metal. It was snowing but not sticking and I had that fear you get when everything is ok now but what if it gets worse. What if the snow starts sticking. What if I can’t trust the guy next to me not to throw me over the Michigan Avenue bridge, when the smallest of shoves would wet me and maybe even bury me. I got home just fine if you don’t count all the scenarios that played out in my head.