The previous night was one of those times when the street smarts I've picked up over the years really kicked in. It's not something I learned from books or a class, but from the kind of gritty, unwanted experiences that stick to you like shadows.
Like that night on May 4th, when I was attacked - it's a memory that lurks in the back of my mind, jumping forward when I least expect it.
So, there I was, in the laundromat, nodding off amid the hum of machines and the faint scent of detergent. Suddenly, I'm jolted awake by someone rifling through my pockets - a woman, searching for my cards or cash.
Instinctively, I woke up and moved to where there were more people around, hoping there's safety in numbers.
Then, leaving the laundromat for some air, I saw it: a police chemical quarter or something. You know those pieces of equipment that just scream 'police' even though they're hooked up to an unassuming car? It was like that.
And although the car was unmarked, it had that look – you know what I mean? The kind that makes you second-guess whether it's a cop car or not. Clever move by the police if you ask me.
I stood there for a moment, feeling watched, and sure enough, that girl who'd been tugging at my pockets slipped away not once but twice. My senses were on high alert – let's not say 'spider senses' because let's face it, I'm no superhero.
But something primal kicked in, making me scan every possible exit strategy.
Was she planning something? Was I going to be cornered again? It’s hard to say. Maybe these fears were just echoes of my past experience screaming back at me. But they made me super vigilant - paranoid even. It's strange how your mind races with what-ifs in these moments.
I guess this is just another entry about how those past scars can shape your present reactions. How sometimes you have to trust your gut and stay wide awake when all you want is to doze off to the white noise of life going on around you.