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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v100) (the November 2011 Issue) You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This writing also appears in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Grounded” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

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The Wallet

Zachary Burd

    “Seventy one dollars and eight cents is your change back,” the clerk said, handing him his money. She smiled and nodded as he stuffed the bills into his wallet. “I hope you enjoy your game.”
    “I hope so too,” he said, taking the bag off the counter.
    “See you soon,” she hoped.
     “Sure you will.”
    He exited the game store. It was lunch hour and the streets were packed with hungry, angry middle class dopes. People were lined outside the local Five Guys, as if it was the only place on the block that was serving food. Rolling his eyes at the sickening amount of idiots clamoring for fried flesh, he sat down on a bench to wait for his ride.
    “Hey, thug,” a man said, sitting down next to him. He was dirty and looked older than he was. “Can I borrow some change?”
    “No.”
    “No? That’s it?” he asked.
    “Looks that way,” the boy said, checking his digital wristwatch.
    “You cold, brother, ice cold,” the man said.
    “Don’t you have a corner to stand on?” the boy said, again glancing at his watch as if to make sure time was moving forward.
    “Screw you, kid.”
    The bum got up and left without another word. The boy didn’t bother to see where he went. His guess was that he went to bother the rich white people for their spare coins. No one liked a homeless beggar running their grimy, little fingers all over them. If a car hit one of them it would take forty eight hours before anyone bothered to call it in.
    The boy’s phone began to ring. It was inconveniently under his wallet in his front pocket. He stood up, his jeans too tight to get his stuff out while sitting, and pulled out his black leather billfold and set it down on the bench as he pulled out his cell.
    “Hello?” he acted bothered.
    “Hey, man. I’m running a bit late,” his friend stated.
    “How late?” he didn’t want to be sitting here all day.
    “Maybe an hour, stuff got hairy at work.”
    The boy continued to stand there. Having to sit here for the next sixty minutes wasn’t something he had planned on doing. He bought his game and wanted to get on home.
    “Fine, I’ll be at the comic shop. See you later,” he said.
    “Catch you on the flipside.”
    Click.
    He turned to walk down the sidewalk, but when he went to reach for his wallet, it wasn’t there. His stomach flipped like a politician. His ID, social, and his seventy one dollars were in there. That was all he had to get him by for the rest of the month.
    The boy looked straight ahead and saw just a mountain of fat blobs trying to wedge themselves into the restaurant. If one of them had taken his belongings, there was no way he could find out unless he just started shooting every single one of them. Quickly he did an about face and in the distance he saw the pathetic pauper man darting down street.
    At that instant he knew who took his wallet. He picked up his game and followed suit brushing by waves of flubber and cellulite. The bum was fast, but he was losing ground and didn’t even know it yet.
    He wasn’t able to run as fast as he would like and for good reason. He had a knack for carrying a pistol holstered in the front of his pants at all times. Never knew when he would have to protect himself or his property. It was a six shooter, .357 magnum. From a few yards away those bullets exploded the heads off cats like brain filled balloons. The boy was beginning to feel excited to see what it would do to a scabby homeless man.
    The bum made a sharp right heading for Cedar Lakes. Cedar Lakes was a run down neighborhood where many people squatted in homes. It made perfect sense for someone like him to crawl into a hole there.
    Just as soon as the boy was getting out of breath, the bum cut around a corner between two duplexes. He was noticeably getting slower hopefully meaning he was done making a mad dash for victory as if he had stolen the golden ticket to go to Wonka’s.
    The boy came to a light jog as his lungs grasped for air. He slowed and stuck to the side of one of the houses. The bum was talking to someone; someone very young from how he was speaking. Stretching his neck around the corner he peaked and saw the dirty, old beggar talking to an equally dirty child. The girl looked like she had been living inside a dumpster for the last decade.
    “We’re going to be eating a mean meal tonight, baby girl,” he said, sounding as if he had won the lottery.
    “Can we go to a place that has waitresses?” she was ecstatic.
    “Oh yes, we can. I know exactly where to go,” he said, gently poking her nose with his finger.
    “They usually don’t let you beg for change at Waffle House,” the boy said, creeping out of the shadows like a demon.
    The man’s expression warped from happiness to something else entirely. He turned around to face the boy.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked defensively.
    “I’m here for my wallet, you waste of life.” The boy said, pulling out his gun.
    The man jumped in front of his child making sure to block her completely. His hands went up over his head. The little girl began to cry and held on to her father’s dirty khakis for dear life. This wasn’t the first time one of them had a piece pointed at them, and it was always as scary as the first.
    “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he took his girl’s hands off him so that her fingertips couldn’t be shot off.
    “So it’s coincidence that my wallet disappears just when I see you sprinting down the road? I’m not stupid, old man. I am a lot more educated than you are as you can tell,” the boy said, cocking the lever back on his revolver. The sound nearly shook the pauper off his foundation.
    “Like I said I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Just don’t hurt my little girl. She’s my everything.”
    “Oh, I won’t,” he said, firing a single shot at the man’s head, “Only you.”
    The beggar’s body dropped to the ground with a loud thud. The little girl crawled from underneath her dad’s corpse throwing up all over her arms. She couldn’t see a thing. Her vision was clouded by a swelling of tears. All she could hear was the boy’s laughter as he spoke about what a good shot that was.
    The boy walked over to the dead body, kneeled down, and searched its pockets. He couldn’t help but smile, until he realized the beggar didn’t have his wallet. He just found two ten dollar gift cards for Ruby Tuesday’s.

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