Five lousy bucks

“Don’t fucking move,” his hands on my shoulders. “Give me your fucking wallet now!”
I didn’t think he could be serious. He wears a generic mall store bandana over his face like a TV old-west villain. Somebody is holding a 9mm to my head, a finger on the trigger. I hand him all my money. I think it’s serious.
“It’s all I”ve got.”
“What the fuck is this?” He looks at the five dollars folded in his hand.
I’ve never been robbed before. Nor have I had a gun pointed at my skull. It could have been fake. I’m not sure. The gun looked real enough not to take any chances. No bullets in the head please. Still knives scare me more. Knives don’t make loud bangs that wake up the neighbourhood; people who can phone for an ambulance. I’m glad I didn’t notice a knife. The third guy could have been holding a knife. I didn’t see. The gun looked real enough not to take any chances. They only got off with five bucks.

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