untitled.

"you know what time it is."

it wasn't a question.

i didn't even really get a chance to see who said it before there was a pretty good sized matte black handgun in my face.

it's right about then i feel this fucked up relief/fear mix, because i know i only have five bucks on me. i try to only carry enough to get me out of a pinch when i'm out lurking.

the gun gets cocked. a few cars pass down the otherwise dark side street.
time to start moving, or doing something. shit.
"man... i only got five dollars, but it's yours man." i say, as casually as i can.

just ten minutes ago i was on north avenue. near humboldt.
hood up. criminal intent. nerves of steel.

a jewel osco grocery bag holds a few cans of rusto.
the spot is a good one. it's darkened by shadows now, but in the daylight you can't miss it.

he took my fiver. looked down the street past me, and said "alright. keep walking."

so pro.

when it's over, you got this little adreniline rush. it pushes through veins and into limbs and brains.

it's almost the same as when the hiss of the can starts and you can't look around for the cops anymore.
you are committed.

i was on the way home. the bars were still open, and i could hear the patrons on the corner the whole time.
i walked past them after. another night on the beat.

i don't believe in karma. i am not surprised that our paths crossed. i am not upset about it either.
the rest of the walk is filled with memories of getting chased and beaten by the police, and images of that gun that i was on the wrong end of.

all just doing their jobs.

is it wrong to prefer the gun? higher risk maybe, but in the end everything is so simple.






*some of the details may have been changed to protect the guilty.