Attempting the time-honored tradition of buying bleacher tickets from a scalper, I find a seller, agree to a high price, and hand over the cash. Then I notice that one ticket is dated for the previous day’s game.

The guy with my cash takes off running.

“You fucker!” I shout, running after him down the alley behind Sports Corner.

“Stop him!” I call to a bunch of twentysomething guys in Dockers, who watch him run past. A parking attendant tries but fails to block him.

I chase him down a side street, between parked cars, to a gangway between apartments. He jumps over the fence. I use the latch and follow him through the alley and over the back fence.

He turns left, then stops and faces me. Oh shit, I think, realizing how stupid this is and that he might just haul off and pop me.

I take the turn wide to avoid getting too close. He’s standing there, panting, arm outstretched.

“Here’s your money, ma’am,” he says. “Nice run.”

–S. Blight

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