Fisheyed, the surveillance camera captures the scene at an awkward tilt: a slight woman wearing a hijab and a white winter coat walks along a sidewalk, looking at her phone. A man dressed in black from hoodie to sneakers, the lower half of his face masked, intercepts her. It sounds like he says, “Hi, ma’am.” She puts her hands, holding the phone, up to her face; he grabs her by her wrists or hands. She shrieks as another man (black hoodie, tan slacks, two-tone tan-and-black ball cap, grayish sneakers) approaches the woman from behind, on her right side; the man in black passes the second man the woman’s phone. She says, “OK, OK,” in a rising tone, and then something I can’t understand. By now two other people, both women, both masked and wearing black clothes, have joined the two men in a circle around the woman in the white coat. Another man stands at a slight distance. “We’re the police,” one of the men says, as if soothingly. The man in all black cuffs the woman in the white coat. He and one of the women in black each takes hold of the arms of the woman in the white coat; the group of six moves from the sidewalk into the street. The security camera, which had been static until now, tracks the group’s motion into the street dappled with late afternoon sun.
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