Crime Doesn’t Pay

After an afternoon spent shuffling through tax papers, leaving forms behind at copy shops, and getting stuck in traffic. I decided to unwindwith a cup of tea at Bauhaus. It’s such a nice day.

Just as I walked inside, there was a quick motion in my peripheral vision. A woman shouted, “Get him! He took my purse!” I hesitated. A couple of guys dodged out the door and into traffic. My brain had to actually process the word “chase” before I could run after them. I followed them up Melrose and then right – behind The Chapel bar. I ran up the alley and saw, twenty feet ahead of me, a barista pull the thief down. (How did he get around the counter so fast?) Another guy grabbed hold and the thief stopped struggling. They sat on him calmly. I stood back catching my breath and shaking from adreneline and nerves. I eventually realized it would be a good idea to call the police. I answered the dispatchers questions, pacing back and forth between the alley and the street, looking for the address and then the purse snatchers description. The victim walked up and someone handed her the purse. She stood off to the side, holding the purse close. The police pulled up. They looked everyone over, and one of them asked the victim if she was a friend of the thief. The purse snatcher and captors untangled themselves. The thief stood up, and I realized that his haircut and clothes didn’t match my description of him. His shaved head was bleached blonde locks. His jeans were sweatpants. His t-shirt was long-sleeved. I walked back to Bauhaus, accepted a free cup of tea, which clattered in its saucer as I carried it to my table.