Setting: On a late Spring Friday afternoon, two 12-year old cousins are standing on the BART train platform in El Cerrito, a small city across the bay from San Francisco. “The pony-tail lady in jeans and pink sweater," I said to my cousin who was a few months older than me. Whenever we’re in a public place, Sydney and I like to play a game of guessing what people are. “A dancer. Maybe a ballerina,” Twelve-year old Sydney said, gazing down the BART train platform. "See the old man with the silver cane behind her." “A retired guy from the government.” “The girl in overalls with a brown leather backpack.” “Easy. College student, probably UC Berkeley." Sydney lowered her voice and said, "I've got one for you, Jeannie. The tall guy with the bald head and the blond ponytail." “Where?” “Behind you.” I squatted down and pretended to tie my shoe as I glanced at the man wearing a grayish-green raincoat, the belt hanging to the ground. He