You know, there's an interesting piece of psychology pervading American culture today. It's particularly prevalent in large cities but exists even in places where there's nothing of particular worth. It's most easily seen when you're in a security field of some kind. People are afraid of boxes. Backpacks. Containers in general. Particularly when they don't know what's in them but all too often just because they suspect they do. They're relieved when they're wrong of course which is one of the few times Americans get to be happy about being wrong. They suspect it's a bomb or some other foul thing and when it's nothing, it's a real joy. Then there's the pay off. A voyeuristic thrill. People get to dig through this nothing in a box and enjoy the fact that they're still alive for just a few seconds. There are a billion and one more dangerous things in the world than a box and the odds of dying from a box are miniscule and yet...people are still afraid of that box. Not of the cop whose killed far more people than the box ever did, statistically. Not of the industrial tycoon they see daily who just payed Guatamalan jungle fighters to kill his own employees to keep them from putting together a union. Not even of the doctor who prescribes drug after drug to children to cure a condition he doesn't understand and risks, with each new chemical, killing them just that much faster. I think the only reason even to be afraid of the box is because of that little moment when the world is scattered and uncertain. It's pleasure unlike any you would ever normally get. That fearful box. That devil box which squats beside a door or out in the street or in the chair beside you.