By "this," I mean this.

One of my oldest and dearest friends, Mrs. Kathy, and her family had something horrible happen to them.

Her husband was out walking their dog, when someone asked him for the time. As he was about to answer, somebody smacked him in the back of his head with a baseball bat. They (of course Mr. Time was really an accomplice) wanted him to be knocked unconscious, and when he wasn't, they both proceeded to beat him in the head with their baseball bats.

The dog ran away.

He staggered to his feet and ran to the street, where he was found by ... I forget whether it was a passer-by or the police. They took him to one hospital, then another more adept at handling severe traumas.

The good news is, all functions are normal. I mean, he doesn't have brain damage or impaired mobility, which was a fear due to the amount of bashing done to him.

The police rang Mrs. Kathy's condo bell; she was asleep with her baby at the time.

He didn't even have a wallet on him.

Mrs. Kathy doesn't live in the scary inner city; she lives here. But it abuts the city, and has alleys and dark places where people can hide.

Dilf and I lived in Oak Park when we were first married. He got held up by a drug addict looking for money with a fake gun. Dilf heard the plastic click against the guy's belt buckle as he was pulling the "gun" out of his pants and questioned the gun's authenticity. Lucky for us, he was right, but the experience still haunted him and the whole act of testifying was not particularly pleasant.

I can only imagine how long this will haunt Mrs. Kathy and Mr. Jeff. The desperately want to move. I desperately want to help them.