Wilder Magic

Getting robbed

Four blocks, you'd think I'd be able to walk four blocks without any trouble, but of course, something always goes wrong with me. I look down the dark streets that lace New York and start the short walk from my art studio to my apartment. Like I said, four blocks.

As I get near my destination, a black figure brushes by my shoulder. It take me a second to comprend the situation as my purse is lifted off me and pulled down my arm by the now clearly male figure.

He's almost got it from me, when I think, No way am I getting robbed today, and grab the bags strap with all my might. I may not look it but I've actually got some muscle under this flower splattered blouse, so I'm able to cling on, to the man's surprise.

He turns to look at me, confused, and I see his face under the street lamps above. Let's just say that if I had to be robbed by someone I'd want it to be someone who looked like him. It's hard to hate a pretty face.

We struggle for a while, but he finally breaks lose with my phone, wallet, credit cards, and even my cap stick and it was my favorite flavor, too. This is not going to happen on my account, I think and start to take of my wedges. I begin running after him in the dark of the night, quietly though so he doesn't know I'm following.

I chase him silently for a few blocks until he comes to a shabby hotel and steps though the door, shoving my purse under his leather jacket.
I stop to catch my breathe before entering the place and following him up the stair to the second level. The placed is covered in a thin layer of dirt and I cringe as my bare feet sweep across the floor.

As I reach the top, I come upon him to see he's quickly digging in his pockets to unlock the the door.

"Hey you!" I yell. It meant to sound threatening but it comes of more like a squeaky mouse. He turns and looks me over, then realizes who I am.

"You must really like this purse," he said smirking. He's confident, but not cocky, in a way that makes me want to throw a brick at him but not hit him on the face, maybe the foot or something. His eyes run all over me and just want to slap him for checking out a girl he just stole from. Like, what the heck! Its not like I'm available. You just stole from me.

"Yeah I do. Now can I please have it back," I say holding out my hand and popping out my hip. He looks at me, amused and totally unphased.
" I don't think so" he teases as he quickly opens the door, which he had discretely unlocked while we were talking. I run to try and stop him, but the door shuts right before I can get to it. I bang on it in frustration and hear a chuckle from the inside.

"Let me in," I yell stupidly.

"Nah, don't really feel like it" he says then chuckles again.

I try to think of something that might appeal to his better nature, if he has one, and make him feel bad enough to give it back.

"Please, I'm just a poor artist trying to make something out of nothing... whose also a racial minority and has gone through many...struggles," I through together. It's mostly true. I'm African American and an artist and I've been through struggles but I wouldn't say I'm poor...maybe lower middle class but not poor.

"You'll have to try harder than that," he scoffs realizing what I'm trying to do.
"I-I'm bankrupt and their going to take my house an-and I'm starving" I lie.
"You sure do have a nice phone and post a lot of beach selfies for a bankrupt personned," he comments.

"Hey get off my phone," I pound on the door, "how did you even get my lock code."
"Nothing's ever locked," he teases and I can tell by his tone that he has a huge grin on his face.

By this point, I'm done and I've about had it with this dingle-ling. "Open the freakin' door," I scream pounding on it harshly.
"Calm down," he retorts, "you can't open it. It's locked."

"Nothing's ever locked," I say with a shrugg and kick the door just below the lock so that it breaks and swings wide open.