I think about a little girl I once had as a patient during my pediatric rotation. She was six years old, in for chemotherapy for some kind of kidney cancer. I was sitting on her bed, coloring with her, and she suddenly laid down her crayon, leaned back, and sighed. “What’s up?” I asked. And she said, “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how big the sky is.”

“Does that scare you?” I asked, and she said, “No. It makes me feel better.” I think I understand now why Chip wanted to come outside.

In the distance, we see a man walking toward us. He catches sight of us, pauses, then heads toward us.

“Let’s go,” I tell Chip.

“Why? It’s so nice out.”

I look at the man, who is coming closer. Dark hooded sweatshirt. Hands in pockets.

I stand up. “Come on. Hurry.”

Chip takes my arm, pulls me back down. “He’s just a guy out for a walk. Don’t worry.”

Except that the guy out for a walk now has a gun pointed toward us. It’s fascinating, in a way; I realize I’ve never seen one quite so close up.

“‘Evening, folks,” he says. “Guess what this is?”

“I don’t have anything,” I say. “I don’t have my purse.” I’m shaking; I can feel my heart beating in my throat.

“You got a watch?”

I take it off and hand it to him. When he leans forward to take it, I see his face a little better. A white man, about fifty or so. Heavy black eyebrows, very thin lips.

“That all the jewelry you got?”

“Yes.”

“What’s in your hand?”

I open it. “A rock.”

He laughs. “That ain’t gonna help you much.” He gestures with his gun toward Chip. “You got your wallet?”

“I do,” Chip’s voice is remarkably calm. Friendly, really. I want to look at him, but I’m afraid to turn my head. “But I’ll tell you something. I don’t feel like giving it to you.”

The man snorts, steps closer.

“Chip,” I say quietly.

“The reason is, I’ve had just about enough. If you look at my head, here, you’ll see a scar. Surgery for a brain tumor. Didn’t work. You’re robbing a dying man, pal. You don’t want to do that, your karma will be incredibly bad.”

The man puts the gun to Chip’s temple. “Give me your wallet, you stupid fuck.”

Chip reaches in his pocket, hands the man his wallet. Then his watch.

“I’m going to back away,” the man says, “and you two are going to sit there. If you move while I can still see you, I’ll shoot you both. Don’t think I don’t mean it. It wouldn’t mean shit to me, I’ve killed lots of people.”