I heard ranting. The typical homeless-man ranting that we’ve all become accustomed to. I wasn’t scared. I’m used to walking downtown in cities – New York, San Francisco, New Orleans, and Chicago. Why should visiting Denver be any more dangerous?

It was about 6 p.m. on a Wednesday last month when my wife, our friends, and I were walking the five blocks on 15th Street from our hotel, Embassy Suites, to a restaurant on Larimer Square. There’s a little pocket park along the way at Arapahoe Street, and it’s apparently become a hangout for unhoused people.

He was yelling something about someone killing his family. I glanced at him – no dirty look or anything, just a curious glance. He was crossing 15th toward our side of the street. I turned back and continued walking. I know that 99% of unhoused people are harmless to strangers. I guess I wasn’t prepared for the other 1%.

I felt something hit the back of my neck, and it knocked me to the ground. I heard my glasses rattle across the pavement. I’d somehow caught myself a bit with my elbows and arms, so my head didn’t hit the concrete. Splayed out on the sidewalk, I heard my wife and our friends yelling, then asking if I was OK, and then they were helping me up. I got to my knees, then my hands, then I was sitting on a bench. I was dazed, and I couldn’t respond. Was I OK? I had no idea.

It turned out – according to surveillance video and witnesses – the guy had stormed up behind me and punched me full-force on the back of my neck. He then walked back across the street and stood watching and yelling at us. We were in front of a bank, and the security guards ran out to help.

EMTs arrived and checked me for a concussion. I was OK. Two scrapes on one arm and one on the other where I hit the ground, and I couldn’t move my neck to the left. Denver Police arrived and spoke with me, then they went to speak with him, and that’s when he decided to run. The police caught him, we did an ID, and he went to jail. I went to our hotel room.

And that bothered me.

The officer asked me, three times I think, “Do you want to press charges?”

Do I want to press charges? What I want is for no one else to get hurt. I’m a 55-year-old guy in good health. What if I’d been 75? What if I’d been a child? What if I hadn’t caught myself and had hit my head on the concrete? What if my attacker had carried a knife?

Do I want to press charges? What I want is for the guy to get help with the addiction or mental health crisis that he’s having. What I want is for him not to be living on the streets. What I want is for someone to fix this.

Because I’m angry.

I’m not angry at the guy who attacked me. (Not anymore, now that I’ve calmed down a bit.)

I’m angry at you. I’m angry at me. I’m angry that we have collectively created and sanctioned a society that is unsafe. Unsafe. If I as a visitor to Denver can be attacked in broad daylight on a nice street, unprovoked, by an unhoused man, then we are unsafe. We have failed; I have failed you, and you have failed me. And we have all failed that man whose psychosis or drug-induced delusion or whatever demons he’s dealing with led him to attack a stranger.

I’m no expert on homelessness, but it’s nothing new to me. Formally, I’ve worked in soup kitchens and volunteered with a Room in The Inn shelter program. Informally, I’ve shared meals with homeless folks and taken people to motel rooms in the middle of winter.

But the last several years, I’ve been surprised to see how bad the situation has become, and it’s become increasingly difficult for me to call any of this OK: Entire sections of public parks in Queens abandoned to become urine-soaked campgrounds. Blocks of roadside RVs becoming permanent lodging along the railroad tracks outside San Francisco. And now this, in Denver of all places.

I have sympathy for those on both sides of this issue as cities grapple over rules that would ban sleeping on the streets. But after what just happened, I have to agree: We need to ban living on the streets. We need a ban, and, in tandem, we need the resources to fix the situation that we’ve created. We need adequate public housing for those sidelined by our high-stakes economy. We need forced re-institutionalization for those mentally ill who cannot take care of themselves. And we need free drug treatment for the victims of our pharmaceutical piracy and our ridiculously failed war on drugs.