So there I was walking - ok, maybe not walking because it was dark, but more like briskly strolling - down the cold street, looking at the ground with my hands in my coat pockets when a thug came up to me. Clearly he was a thug, or at least a wanna-be thug - with the fake gold fronts, cubic zirconia earring, the thick gold plated chain dangling down his chest, and the valor baggy sweat suit riding far below the boarder - and he had a gun: A standard glock-17, probably loaded with 9mm's. It was a black extension from his outstretched white arm and aimed at my body as he demanded "all I got."
"But I got nothing sir," was all I could muster, and I was being truthful because I was dead broke just walking down the street from the bus stop to my little studio apartment on the west side of town.
"Bullshit, you got somethin', look at you," as he approached me closer, waiving the gun around as if he we the Don and I was his low-man on the totem pole bitch.
I slowly reached down and tapped my pockets to show him that I wasnt carrying anything, but that wasnt enough for him. He got right up in my face with the gun, snarled at me and reached around to my back pocket in a last ditched effort to steal my dignity, or rather my money.
I noticed, and awfully quickly I must add, that his hand and forearm loosened a bit as he clearly focused on my ass instead of his method of intimidation, so I swung. Yep, I hit this mother fucker as hard as I could, right across his knuckles. And as he screamed and grabbed for his hand the gun dropped to the damp street with a metallic thud. I dove for the pistol, grabbed it, turned around and as he began to lunge for me I blasted: BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, three rounds and he dropped.
He lay there motionless with three quickly spreading red spots on his oversized sweatshirt. I stood up and stammered over to this dead son of a bitch and unloaded one final round right between his dilated eyes.