Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Good Samaritian

Roland looked up and saw the young man running.
He stole my purse! The old woman screamed.
Roland took off running after the speeding shaved head.  The young man looked back. He was maybe fifteen.
You better back off.
Roland shook his head, running in his Florsheim's and suit with his briefcase.
Nothing doing he shouted back.
They were running down an alley now. A man looked up at the running boy and then at Roland.
Call the cops Roland shouted.
The man just stared at him and shrugged. Roland was starting to breathe hard.  He had played football. Run track. He jogged. But he had just had a donut and coffee and felt weighed down his briefcase.
You better back off mother fucker the robber said to him again.
No way, he shouted but this time it came out: NO...WAY.
Now they were running down another alley and he was closing the gap. He could see he had on basketball shoes. Nikes. A hoody. He was holding  the purse like a football tucked under his arm. He turned his head, his eyes white.
I'm warning you motherfucker.
Give...up...the...purse. Roland gasped.
He could almost grab his shoulder now. The young man suddenly stopped and turned and pulled out a silver handgun. Roland stopped short his hands going  up.
I fuck you up you keep running he said breathing hard, nostrils flaring, eyes black.
Roland stared at him. The robber put the gun back in his hoody and took off down the alley at a light jog
Roland watched him disappear.  He turned and walked back and saw the old woman.
Did you catch him young man?
No. He shook his head, still breathing jerkily, walking past.
But what about my purse?
Fuck it, he called back, staring straight ahead like a solider. 

Rocket Man...the road less traveled is harder than you think

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