These days when I didn’t find myself mowing the lawn in Downtown, L.A? I found myself running around the city taking things I had no business taking. Well guess what? I found some flier that was probably older than me with a quote I REALLY love; “The action belongs to you but the reaction doesn’t”. Or some bullshit like that I couldn’t tell because the damn thing was covered in Jelly & cigarette stains. 

Anyways, my newest hobby was surely something to put me in th hot seat! I didn’t mind. As long as I could have some fun without getting myself killed, and without Don Roman beating the shit out of me. My newest hobby was running into someone’s pockets! Sounds dangerous right? Who cares. We wake up dangerous.

Today was a special day. I was done sticking my hands into the pockets the local shmucks around town. People were already getting fed up with me even though sometimes I wore a mask. They said they knew it was me by my muscular glutes. I decided today was the day I took on a bigger challenge. Pick pocket anyone who was not from my town.

Started my regular routine of brushing my pearly whites, combing back the most beautiful hair you’d probably even see, and of course, admiring the poster of someone I would love to be one day. 

The moment I stepped outside I spotted my victim. First of all, I could SMELL the Chicago on him. They walked around like the people from New York. As if they owned this thing of ours! I gave him the old up & down glance to see if he had anything that screamed money. Gold watch? Check. Multiple gold chains? Check. The aroma of an expensive cigar? Check. A WEDDING RING?!?! CHECK!!

There was one thing about a married man. Not the fact that he couldn’t sex up the world as he pleases,but the fact that it’s his main priority as a man to provide for his immediate family. I knew he was holding.

I took off after him. Once he bent the corner I reached for my gun & decided to just keep it tucked. “He’s from Chicago. He’s fat from all the booze, he can’t keep up with these young legs” I thought. Boy was I wrong! I did the old trick-a-roo where I’d put my hands in the slit of his slacks then pushed him forward to fuck his balance up along with making it easier to take the belongings out his pockets. Once the deed was done I ran off around the corner & ran without looking back once. 

When my lungs felt like it wouldn’t be able to stand the pain anymore? I stopped, bent over, & caught my breathe. Soon as I felt the greasy air support my body I felt the need to count the wad of cash. I counted, and counted, and you guessed it right. I counted some more! Damn this was a good idea.

Just as the wad was rapidly closing in on its last bill I felt a hard thud along with a dizzying sensation hit me. I couldn’t see anything but all I heard was

”You fucking moron! How dare you trample my pockets?! I’m a man of big respect! You should know my line, and if you don’t, ask about me! It is I. Roadrunner815 oh and you forgot to put your ski mask on retard!”

I blacked out. When I woke up the first thing I reached for was my pockets. Guess what? Not only did he take back his money, but he also took MY money, along with my gun. And my ski-mask. All I could do was lay there & small. I reached in my pocket for that sticky, stinky poster. I guess the reaction really isn’t yours.

(OOC: For anyone who wants to check? You can look at Roadrunner815’s profile to see that this even was entirely true. Also no hard feelings from anyone residing in NY or CH right? No you don’t walk around like you own this, & no. Not all of you are fat. Only some of you ;D)