Sandra was one of the bumped-into. She lost her grandmother's necklace. That glint of diamond was gone. She wouldn't realize it until she got home, and, when she did realize, she would fall to her knees, sobbing. Cheated. Duped. Dirtied. Contaminated.
Al was an old man, and he had nothing worth stealing. He stood on the corner, sipping from a brown bag and hoping that the liquor would hurry up. Getting drunk was not a gradual process for him. It was like getting hit by a sledgehammer. That was the way he wanted it. He would drink a pint of vodka in one go if he had a beer to chase it with. This time, he had no beer. But a few more sips, taken in rapid succession, and he would be good to go.
Anthony wore a badge, and he thought it made up for the fact that he had...bad ideas. Bad desires. He cast glances he was ashamed of. He dreamed things at night that couldn't stand the test of sunlight. He was ashamed, but it was beyond his control. The badge was a scarlet letter that only he could see. He was barely holding on, but, man, he was trying.
Yolanda didn't try at all. She gave into every base desire that she had and never thought twice about it. She took everything she could with no remorse. No empathy. No Jiminy Cricket for Yolanda. She was a predator in the truest sense of the word, and broken souls fanned out behind her like a wedding train. Her panther eyes missed nothing. Her conscience was clean.
I was the one watching them, but I didn't judge any of them. Judge not lest ye be judged. I reckon that there isn't a person on earth who doesn't do or think something they don't want anyone to know about. That's what it means to be human. That's what fuels writers. At least, that's what fuels writers like me.