Through the car window, we watched a boy bobbing his fists like he was shaking dice, circling an older man in an MTA uniform. It was a silent movie. The man stepped back and held is palms up as if touching an invisible shield. The boy ducked inside, swung his rock hard fists into eyes and cheek. The old man yelled but no sound was heard. It was a silent movie. He lay on the sidewalk and the boy stood over him. In that long moment I saw on the man’s face, not pain but blank confusion. Red and blue light splashed them and his young attacker ran, his body a piston of knees and hands. A police car climbed on the curb. The light turned green. We drove to my apartment, our conversation the subtitles to the movie we just saw.