At the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, a woman complimented my sparkly Chucks. She was wearing flip-flops, the only shoes she had brought with her. She was going to the Route 91 Harvest Festival across the street. Wish I had better shoes, she said. I’m picturing her running. I’m wishing she had better shoes. I’m realizing that it’s hard to know whether to run or stand still when bullets are falling on a field like rain.