Let’s Play a Game: Good Samaritan or Murderer?

Last night I made the relatively lengthy trip up to Target on 117th for some random stuff. I left, as usual, having over-estimated my carrying power, and my arms were full of overflowing bags. I had timed my trip poorly, so it was already after dark — nothing I love more than Harlem at night. About halfway between 1st and 2nd Ave to catch the bus, I hear “Excuse me!” I instinctively turned my head, and instantly regretted it. There was a Porsche idling along beside me, window rolled down. In true New York fashion, I tucked in my chin and stared at the ground like it was Jon Hamm. “Excuse me! Do you have far to walk?” Keep walking, keep walking, regret not putting that pepper spray on your keychain, keep walking. “Excuse me — are you walking far?” Just. Get. Away. You watch too much Criminal Minds to be tricked by this. Just when I thought I was a goner, he yelled “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” and peeled out. Oh, excuuuuuuuse me, man in a Porsche, for not jumping into your car like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Pardon me for misconstruing your Christmas Spirit for bloodlust. Next time I’ll amble right on over like you’re looking for a lost puppy.

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