During the summer, as I strolled through Baker Park with my father, we were met by three young men who from afar yelled loudly, “They have a bomb! They have a bomb!”
My father and I glanced at one another and continued our walk. We were quiet, and we reflected on what had transpired. As a matter of fact, the entire park seemed to have gone silent for us. What was it that prompted those young men to accuse us of having violent intentions?