It happened on a very nice Sunday afternoon. The fear, the shame, the hunger and the pain flooded his eyes. Step by step he crossed the street, we shared the sidewalk, our eyes met, his lips moved, shivering, and the words that came out wounded him much more than me: "give me half of the money." His hand under the hoodie, even though there's nothing there to scare me besides his gaunt body and the absurdity of this scene. So I ask you: what is violence? A desperate assault as a last resort or a life destroyed by your greed?