I went to Walmart for milk, detergent, and socks, thinking only about getting in and out. Halfway through the first aisle, I noticed five teen boys drifting behind me—hoods up, whispering, not holding a single item. I told myself I was being paranoid, but every time I turned, they turned; every time I stopped, they stopped.
I changed my route three times to test it. I cut from paper goods to baking, then doubled back through toiletries and toward the front. They stayed with me, never close enough to touch me, never far enough to be accidental.
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