Bobby was weighing up the apples on the scale by the sidewalk on the grocery store-front, somewhere down the main drag of shops and businesses the lined the main street through Dodge, Detroit on the East side of town. He was to drop the bag of fruit back at his apartment a few blocks away before taking the bus over to Palmer Park. He had a big meeting, with his boss LittleSi in a medium-sized restaurant that afternoon, and had pre-planned his routine for the day. A radio crackled from somewhere inside the shop, a news bulletin about a trucking depot that had been raided the previous evening, he smirked to himself, knowing full well exactly who was responsible for that particular theft. It was at that moment a kid appeared from the alley at the side of shop, swiped a bunch of oranges and ran off back where he came from all within seconds. The shopkeeper tutted, and moved around to collect the odd bits of fruit that had fallen on the street. 'Detroit.. what the fuck is going on these days' he said, to nobody in particular. Checking his wristwatch, Bobby noticed he probably should make a move. He paid up and put a brisk walk on back towards his home, swinging his grocery bag as he shifted with haste.

Arriving home, he shooed away a few rouge swans that were loitering outside his apartment, opened the door to the hallway and slung his apples unceremoniously in to his storage box alongside his mailbox slot. He stepped back out in to the street, noticing it had began to rain, so caught the door before it had swung shut and pulled an umbrella from the stand just inside. The bus stop was only a short walk down the street, so he made towards it. Wondering how long he had to wait for the peasant wagon, he flicked the cuff up on the sleeve of his overcoat, and discovered his watch was no longer sat on his wrist. Dropped? Stolen? He then remembered what the shopkeeper had said about the city becoming a cesspool of thieves... Fuck.. he thought to himself. 'FUCK' he declared out loud, with several other bus-wanker-waiting-types throwing him a bemused look.

He noticed the traffic was heavy on the street, as he saw the bus approach - this wasn't really doing much for his mood, if he was being honest. The bus pulled in to the stop. He boarded, and stooped to speak to the driver as he reached for his change, noticing there was less there then there was earlier in the day. 'What's the deal with this traffic, huh?', 'Some no good hood has stolen the stop lights' the driver nodded further up the street, and as he did, slowly reached for the outside pocket of Bobby's coat, Bobby slapping his hand automatically, as he went to take his seat. He noticed many of the passengers on their own private, tedious journey all had vacant expressions in the seats lining the bus; they each stared blankly out of the window. He was on a bus full of people from New York, he thought to himself, allowing himself a small chuckle. He sat down and noticed his suit pants were unusually loose around his waist as he took his position of comfort, placing his umbrella into the foot space. His belt had been swiped from his waist.

The journey towards Palmer Park was uneventful, he had observed the people on the street going about their daily business, shops full of people, further down the way warehouses with carts filling up various materials for manufacture, trucks loading in bays - Detroit was a busy place. He felt a small rumble in his stomach, indicating he probably needed to pinch a loaf. Knowing he was not too far from his destination, he hit the bell and darted off the bus earlier than planned, clutching his umbrella and doing his best to keep his pants up, a shuffle down the aisle of a sorts. Stepping on to the sidewalk he saw a sign above a unit in between the busy streets:

12th Street Public toilets 

'How Opportune' he thought to himself. He placed his umbrella in the stand by the door, these toilets weren't clean at all, shit splashed everywhere, the stale stench of beer-fused urine and various discoloured tiles falling off the walls everywhere he looked. He hastened in to a cubicle and sat down to do 'tHe BuSiNeSs', first treating himself to a sit-down wee, as you do. It was only when he'd finished had he noticed the toilet paper wall unit screwed to the wall of the cubicle was empty; someone had scratched 'I O U' on to the inside of the pop-open holder. His head in his hands and a sigh of despair, he saw an old discarded 'Newsparper' folded on the floor in between his cubicle and the one adjacent. He quickly pulled it up and began to open it. Several articles had been cut out of the newsparper, taken by somebody, would you believe. He didn't care though, he needed to wipe his ass. Fittingly (perhaps?) it just so happened to be a very old edition of 'The Hunter's Digest' that served as a makeshift poo-remover. Needs must - though he was a big fan of that particular tabloid. Making a vain attempt to stick his stomach out to keep his trousers up, he turned to flush the toilet and noticed the lid of the cistern was off, and the water drained from it. He tentatively washed his hands, and went to retrieve his umbrella before realising that it too was gone. Stolen. Half-inched. 

He returned to the busy street, livid now, and unaware of the time; he glanced up at the clock on one of the department stores opposite, conscious he had a schedule to stick to, with a gigantic meeting with mini Si imminent. He saw a small gang of men stood on boxes of a makeshift platform, dismantling the mechanism in the centre of the clock and carrying the huge arms off to the back of a truck below with haste.. there is nothing people in this city wont steal. He reached for his cigarettes in his back pocket, which were of course not there. He began to jog slightly to the restaurant, knowing it was around here somewhere... He had been at it for a good 5 minutes and was working up a sweat, he went to undo the top button of the shirt to cool off, but needn't have bothered as it was now seemingly missing. He did eventually find the place and stumbled in to the classic décor of the old Italian-style restaurant, spotting wee Si and Twigs sipping coffee at a table nearby. He shook hands with both and took his seat. 'Did you hear about that trucking raid last night, on the radio?' he asked. 'Yup' smiled Si, 'Nope' replied Twigs - 'I don't have a radio. Or a TV, or Netflix.' Si rolled his eyes in response.

They spoke about business for half an hour, enjoying some decent food and a chat about some opportunities on the horizon across town with some recently acquired property the group was now in ownership of. Bobby said his goodbyes and left. It was only waiting for the bus home did he realise that his wallet had been swiped.. strange.. he had it in the restaurant when he had paid for the food.. 'I'm not safe from anything or anyone in this fucking city' he concluded. The bus ride home was uneventful. He arrived back at his apartment to grab his apples from the box in the hall and discovered his juicy Granny Smith's had gone, and an empty plastic bag was all that remained.

Detroit.