Walking home on a night-shaded street in the Village, from the most awful theatre production I have attended, perhaps ever, I pass a small, single handle, brown-colored plastic attache-like-case. It is sitting out on the curb of the sidewalk with the black plastic garbage sacks, waiting for during-the-night-collection. The small case catches my eye and attention because it appears to be set apart, alone, looks unused and is the perfect size for – well, the perfect size for adding to a collection of small cases. But I don’t touch it. What if by touching it, or trying to open it, it detonates. In my mind – Gladwell’s Blink– occurs and I remember the heightened security I saw at Penn Station yesterday noon and the blocking off of Times Square access on Monday night. So I leave the small case alone. But of course I am curious, was it empty?