On my daily soujourn to and from the library, I pass through the local park. It is regularly frequented by the drunken destitute. While, I've never felt endangered walking through there, I do believe I may have been subjected to the world's laziest mugging attempt the other day.
The path through the park crosses a picturesque stream. There is a twelve-foot-wide bridge that crosses it. A large, tall Inuit glared at me as I approached the bridge. He was leaning on a railing. I assumed he was drunk. I walked on the other side of the bridge and he turned to face me as I walked by.
"Hey! Come here!" he slurred menacingly.
"Can't do it, friend," I said cheerfully, my left hand holding the knife in my pocket, as I quickly kept moving.
"I said @#$!ing come over here!" he growled again, but didn't move.
I commend him on his chutzpah, but his technique needs work. That being said, maybe I'm just lucky his siren-call didn't ensnare me.
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