It was cold as usual but sunny and I was wearing my new hat. When we walked into the shop, it was empty except for the man behind the till who was preoccuppied with a newspaper. I asked him for tape so I could secure the contents of the package I was about to send. My friend kept perusing the goody racks.
While waiting for my receipt, someone walked into the shop but all I was thinking was not to miss the next bus. My hat fell. Bending to reach for it, time slowed. The side of my left eye caught the woman crouched down rummaging through her bag, her frame and grey hair, spare . I saw the glint of metal but it never registered.
It didn’t happen fast. The moments stood in the shop, our hands above our heads were the slowest I’d ever experienced. She took the money and walked away. We were traumatized, but that’s to put it lightly, no one wants to be killed on a sunny Saturday morning and by an old lady.
Sketches 
the line is gone between Prose and Poetry.Great stuff. This is beautiful . . . and sad!