For the past ten minutes, there has been a child on the street outside my apartment screaming, “Michael! Miiiiiiccccchhaaaaaaaeeeel!” I live on the third floor and I can hear her cries as though she were in the next room, so I can only imagine what it’s like on the street. Is Michael the brother? The nanny? The imaginary friend? It’s unclear, but because Park Slope is considered So Safe, children like this are allowed to roam free, unattended, fatally distracting work-at-home film critics from producing brilliant insights on Godard films that nobody cares about. If this is what safety has wrought, I say bring back danger.