The question is not whether I'm paranoid; it's whether I'm paranoid enough.

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A couple of blocks before I enter the park, on my morning walk to work, the telephone polls have become community billboards. There are at least five signs that proclaim, “Be careful in this area. There have been several muggings. Pay attention to your surroundings.”

I live in a neighborhood that is in transit from a run down gang driven ghetto, to an upscale reclaimed chichi neighborhood. Homes that sold for less than $50,000 ten years ago have been remodeled and are now on the market for well over a million bucks. Not my place, of course, my building is yet to be reclaimed. Which, for me is good, as I won’t be able to afford the rent on whatever it becomes, when it becomes.

For the most part the area seems pretty safe, even in the park. Oh sure, we have the homeless, the sex workers, all three sexes represented, and of course, the junkies. All in all it’s well patrolled and we seem to live in mutual harmony.

I was surprised when I first saw the homemade billboards, I had thought and hoped that we were past that crap. On the other hand I was encouraged by the fact that someone in the area was taking the time to make signs trying to protect their neighbors.

Then this morning, as I trudged along iPod blasting “The Pogues,” I notice that the signs are gone. As I came to the first pole I thought that perhaps the rain last night had done some damage, but the signs were down from all the polls.

Suddenly I became hyper aware of my surroundings. What if the muggers had come along during the night and removed the signs? After all, signs like that must be bad for the mugging business. There is no law to say that the lawless have to be stupid.

Now I’m beginning to worry. I see a couple of guys running along the path to the park. I think, “running suits would be good disguise for a mugger, who would expect someone in a $150 track suit to be a villain?” “Of course,” I think, “mugging would be a good way to get money for the performance stain-resistant soil-release open bottom pants with matching fleece banded bottom shirt that drapes the mean looking sweat covered killing machine like bodies. Then I remember I’ve been seeing these two guys for the last several months, and in fact, they live two doors down.

Then I spot the woman with the dogs. Okay, she’s a little old, maybe in her late fifties, and the dog look almost as old, but it could be a trap. Just as you are walking past her, thinking that all is well, a second dog could jump out of the bushes, attach itself to your leg and gnaw until you faint and she then goes through your pockets for spare change.

All right, maybe not but you can’t be sure. I’ll tell this, I’m driving to work tomorrow.