I stalk my victim like a cat, leather clad feet padding silently against the pavement.
My body is clad in shadow, my feet in stealth. No doors are locked to me, no wallets out of reach.
I slip behind my mark, one eye trained upon them, one eye watchful for the my blue coated foe, my navy clad nemesis.
The concrete coast is clear.
I brush past my mark with a muttered "S'cuse me", fingers dip into pockets and lift out with a fat wallet somehow stuck to them.
I vanish into the maze of brick sided buildings and clothes lines hung with lacy lingerie and faded business suits.
A siren sounds its battle cry somewhere in the distance summoning New York's finest to the eternal war against thieves like me. The scum of the streets. The black cats of the city. The light-fingered, leather-clad, footloose, villains who do so much to relieve people of the burden of their wallets.
In other words people like me.
I chuckle, swaggering past the flawlessly executed anarchy signs that mark the path to my lair of evil and doom.
A.K.A my club-house
The wail of the police car, forgotten in my introspection, grows nearer, nearer still.
Despite the comfortable cement walls pockmarked and graffiti scarred walls I feel trapped,
my soul fluttering at the borderline of worry.
try to calm my dancing heart
sooth my justified paranoia
check the career of my consciousness into terror
there is nothing
to worry
about.
Nothing.
so why am I so scared?
scared of the quickly approaching siren song.
scared of the swiftly dawning day.
scared of the dawn that will strip me of my stealth and shadow.
scared of being just the girl you see on the street, that girl who will never amount to much,
once more.