Gumusservi

001. The Smell of Fear

Present day
Brooklyn, NYC:

I walk along the dark alleyway of a Brooklyn neighborhood. My hands sink into the my pockets of my hoodie, eyes fixated ahead pretending to not notice the group of young thugs lurking behind me. 

They must assume their craft in pickpocketing, taking valuable items that they would never afford themselves can lead them to yet another win tonight. That they could score the wrist watch I'm sporting and have been flashing at them purposely the last six blocks.

They picked the wrong fight tonight.

I find it funny with people humans more particularly when assuming that their probability of a continuous winning streak means they could never possibly lose at all.

Pride.

This wasn't their first round tonight. They gained confidence from snatching jewels from a young intoxicated couple leaving some posh restaurant on the upper East side of Manhattan. They get around but their fun will soon come to an end like this alleyway. The brickwall gives an easy advantage only one way in and out.

One way to get away from me.

I drop my hand from my pocket, reaching outward allowing the brightness of the full moon reflect against my jewelry prior to placing my hand against the wall. Exhaling while listening to the steps of the boys as they grow closer, closer and there.

They are right behind me.

I can even hear the necklace they took from the last man jingling in one of their pockets as their steps come to a halt.

It was an anniversary gift. Tough love.

"What? Are you not going to say anything?"

Turning around I look at the three adolescent boys, all ruffed up like they lived on the streets all their lives. Holes in various places in each of their jeans, smelling of a rubbish bin and their own feces. The dirt smeared on their faces and hands make them appear like chimney sweepers.

I mock them, holding up two fingers like a little pistol they only wish they could have.

"Ahh, ahh, give me all your money and valuables before I-I shoot cha!" My Italian Mafia accent stolen from the owner of a butcher shop before he sadly had to retire.

The boy in the middle who appeared to be the oldest and deemed the leader of the group didn't seem to like my witty remarks.

"Oh, I wasn't being cheeky. I am glad you noticed, though your lack of humor is disappointing."

The two boys on each opposite side take a quick glance at each other while the oldest looks at me. Though sensing his irritability he tries to appear nonchalant.

Apparently we live in a world where grown men would submit a trio of thugs giving off their jewels, cash, anything of value.

They are obviously insecure of something and try and hide it with a layer of confidence, narcissism.

"I suggest you take a picture as I heard they last longer but last time I tried to take one it didn't work out so well." Scrunching my nose up at the past memory then a cunning smile masks my face.

Intimidation.

Who are the cowards now?