The sun set Cincinnati in a bright, warm light. The breeze wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just enough to tussle the hair.

I smoked a cigarette on a long bench waiting for the bus to my apartment, along with thirty others without their own forms of transportation.

The 46 to Avondale arrived two minutes late. A bus that shoveled the poor from downtown to the notoriously dangerous hood outside of the city. I, unfortunately, was one of those poor, with a one bedroom apartment on the corner of crack and you don’t belong here. The only white guy in the ghetto.

I waited to load up my bike while a large, round black women stepped off and took her minibike off the metal fold-out rack.

As my dollar slid into the fare box, the bus driver yelled through the sea of chattering riders.

“Hey. Isn’t that your bike?”

No one looked up from their phones or conversations.

“Hey! Guy in the back. Didn’t you bring a bike?” His tone got louder.

“Yeah” A young skinny teenager called above the din.

“Well, some lady just took it!”

His face drooped as the realization dawned on him. He pushed past the standing riders and looked out the window with an open mouth and silence. She was gone.

“I got this.” I piped in as I jumped into action, off the bus and to the rack. The hunt was on.

Swoop swoop Long pedals in high gear shot me across the street and down the block of the Federal Reserve. A cop stood in front of the gate.

“Have you seen a large woman with a tiny bike? She just stole it.”

“She was headed that way.” He pointed to the end of the block.

Swoop swoop. The target crossed my sights, a half a block away, slumped over the tiny bike. She was trying to to ride it, but her three hundred pound frame sagged over both sides like full burlap sacks. Her speedy escape lasted ten feet before her wobble sent her bike on tilt and she dismounted.

I swooped in a wide arc, like a hawk circling before a dive, before I flew in full speed and skidded to a stop two feet in front of her.

She was startled when I reached out my left hand and grabbed her handlebars, stopping her forward progress. With my best baritone voice and icy stare, I saw past her eyes. “This is not your bike.”

She didn’t move, except to purse her lips.

“There’s a cop walking up now.” I looked at the officer taking steady steps to the scene, more curious than in a hurry.

“This can go down any way you want.” I stared into her now wide brown eyes. They looked incredulous. I could almost hear her thoughts. This nigga must be crazy.

My eyes high beamed her until she jerked her hand, which turned mine into a fist. I cocked back out of instinct as she snatched her purse from the handlebars and took off speedier than ever with a noted panic in her step.

I stole one last glace as she waddled away and called out with a winning smile. “What were you thinking?”