Pickpocket in Reverse

On the 38 Geary, squished in the evening commute, attempting to avoid the jostles and jabs of my fellow passengers, I tower over the two minute Asian women in front of me, one older, one a student. A burly specimen towers behind me, constantly poking me as the bus jerks, starting and stopping abruptly. He rings the bell, indicating this is his stop. He tries to dart out of the door. The tiny student gently places her arm on his. “Excuse me,” she susurrates, “I believe you have my wallet.” Without looking he hands it back to her and bolts out the door.

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