Stay sharp: what I got wrong about staying safe on the street

This is part three of a five-part series about my Manhattan Bridge experience. Part one describes the incident. Part two honors those who helped.

Safety was not on my mind that morning.

It was a Friday, around 9 am. The bridge was quiet, which is part of what I like about shooting early. A handful of joggers, a few walkers. Overcast sky. I walked out, found the arch in the image above, and kept moving. There was a spot just past it that caught my eye. Good angle, clean sightline to the Brooklyn Bridge. I set up and started shooting.

I did not know I had walked into a blind spot. From either direction on the path, no one could see me. It was like a cove carved into the side of the bridge. I chose it purely for the shot.

That is the part I keep coming back to.

I did not see the man who attacked me. He came from behind while I was focused on the shot. There were no warning signs I can point to, no moment where something felt off. It happened, and then I got up and walked toward the Manhattan side of the bridge to find help.

[Photo: DSCF2119 — the Manhattan Bridge path, taken a few minutes before the attack]

I have been shooting street photography since late 2024, mostly in Philadelphia, with occasional trips to New York. Philadelphia streets have their own texture. I know when to keep walking. I know when someone's energy is off, and I need to find a busier block. That is not a conscious decision I make in those moments. It is closer to instinct, something that developed slowly from being out there enough.

The bridge was different. It was my first time shooting there. I had no baseline for what normal looked like, how many people were usually out, or what the flow of foot traffic felt like. I made assumptions. A weekday morning, a handful of joggers, an overcast sky. I read it as light and quiet and went to work.

I was not exactly wrong, but I was less attentive than I would have been in a familiar place.

What I think about now, even before I pick the camera back up

I have not shot since the incident. I am still recovering, and the camera has stayed put. So I cannot tell you these are habits I have built or things I now do differently on the street. It would not be honest to write it that way.

What I can tell you is what I think about. What I turn over in my head when I imagine going back out, which I plan to do.

I think about context. In Philadelphia, I have a feel for what normal looks like. I have logged enough time there to know when something is off. On the bridge, I had none of that. It was my first time shooting there, and I filled the gap with assumptions. I was not exactly wrong, but I was not paying attention the way I would have in a place I knew well.

I think about what early morning actually means. I shoot early because the city is quiet and the light is different. But quiet also means fewer people around if something goes wrong. I do not think I will stop shooting early. I just want to hold both things at once rather than seeing the stillness only as a benefit.

I think about where I position myself. On the bridge, I was doing what photographers do. I saw something interesting, and I moved toward it. I was not thinking about sight lines, who could see me, or what was behind me. I was thinking about the frame.

The spot I ended up in was a physical blind spot. The arch you see in the photo above created an alcove on the right side of the path. From either direction, I was out of view. No one walking the bridge that morning would have seen what happened.

I did not choose that spot because it was hidden. I chose it because of the shot. Those two things being in the same place is what I think about now.

I think about moving when something feels off. This is the one thing I already do, at least in Philadelphia. It is instinct more than a rule. When the energy shifts, I find a busier block. I do not know yet how that instinct will feel when I get back out somewhere new. I am curious to find out.

On the people who make comments

This is something most street photographers encounter, and I want to be careful about how I talk about it.

Most of the friction I have run into on the street comes from people who are unhappy about the camera. Sometimes it is outright hostility, sometimes it is harder to read than that. My approach depends on the situation. Sometimes I acknowledge it briefly and move on. Sometimes I do not engage at all and just walk away, especially when something feels like it could escalate. I do not want a conflict or an unwanted conversation, and avoiding one sometimes means not responding at all.

That approach has served me fine. But the bridge was not that kind of situation. There was no comment, no signal, no moment to read. Which is part of why I think about positioning and surroundings differently now, because not every situation gives you a warning.

I do not think what happened to me means street photography is dangerous or that you should stop shooting in places like the Manhattan Bridge. I will go back. I want to go back.

What it changed for me is how much attention I give to the space I am in before I get lost in the frame. The time before the camera goes up now matters as much as the time spent shooting itself.