When that guy came at me swinging that kitchen knife I was afraid. Thing is, I'm not sure if I can properly quantify the way I felt - crazy as it sounds it wasn't so much the prospect of my end that was frighting. (though it factored)
It was the circumstances,this man was clearly mental,and even as he came at me the thing that stands out to me most is not his slow awkward attack, but that terrified and tormented look he had on his face.
So although I too was afraid, I knew I wasn't dealing with a "killer". I was dealing with a man that was so tormented by demons that in that very moment in time and although I'd never known him or said two words to him, he was in a position where he could take my life through an unlucky strike.
It would have been a senseless death, senseless for him to kill me, and had I picked the knife up off the ground after he dropped it, it would have been senseless for me to attack him.
I got away from him, out of the building, and called the police....
When the cops took him out of the building, I actually stood there and hesitated when they asked if I wanted to press charges...Honestly, what I was considering was that if maybe I let it go, this man would chill out,maybe see that I was a good guy, a nice guy,somebody that isn't deserving of a random knife attack...
I asked the officer if the guy was mental,perhaps off his meds...She told me,"no he's just an asshole" and "they come over here and think they can do anything they want" she being a police officer, her words were gospel---to her and the way she came off,this was just some routine bullshit in the Bronx.
So I pressed the charges,went in the next day and signed the paper...