Gimme sheltered

"No, not tonight," the man said vaguely. As he spoke, he was loosening the leash on his dog, who was coming closer to Homer, who was still not paying the slightest attention. I pulled Homer back and motioned to the man to do the same with his. The pit bull wasn’t growling at Homer, wasn’t crouching, didn’t seem poised for attack, but then, how could I tell? I thought of that other pit bull I had seen on the Viale a month or so ago, fortunately muzzled, who had darted out from his master’s control and lunged against a passing dog with no warning.

I thought of Homer as an ingenuous sheltered child out with his suburban mom, coming smack up against a street-smart thug from the urban jungle. We wouldn’t have a chance.