 Hello everybody, my name is Francie Covington and excuse me, I have been working on a collection of short stories and I would like to just read three minutes of that short story after I thank Shiz for giving birth to this anthology and making her fellow writers aunties and uncles. So, Mildred was walking home along Laguna street from a Wednesday evening at the opera when an aggressive panhandler accosted her, spare change, he demanded, his voice, a high demented terror, tenor, sorry. I don't have any money, she protested, yeah you do, I can tell you have money, he shouted then moved in front of her blocking her path, spare change. The strong stench emanating from him assaulted her nostrils. She clutched the handbag to her chest with both hands and backed away, a step then two, when a loud growl punctuated the darkness, hey leave her alone she's not bothering you. Mildred and the panhandler turned towards the man emerging from the darkness. He stopped in front of them standing taunt and straight, his hand full of rumpled street sheet newspapers. The panhandler growled low, mind your own business, his voice promised violence if he wasn't obeyed. This is my business, bellowed the man in a commanding baritone, now go away. The panhandler stood as ground, you know who you're messing with, his eyes narrowed to slits. I've seen you before and I'll see you again. Not if I see you first, the wiry man retorted, jutting his sharp chin out for effect. The panhandler looked the interloper up and down menacingly before moving off down the street grumbling as he went. The man turned to Mildred, where you going ma'am? His voice was matter of fact, like a cab driver asking his fate, his destination. Home, just a few blocks away, she replied in a voice more like a soprano choir boy than a middle aged woman of the world. She'd intended to sound stronger than she felt. I'll walk behind you to make sure you don't have no more trouble. He waved his open palm toward the sidewalk to encourage her to resume walking. It was a Sir Gala had move. She hesitated, weighing if she should thank him, be silent, or tell him that she'd be fine alone. Unsure of herself, she began walking and after a few steps turned and said, please walk beside me. He was surprisingly fast on his feet and covered the space between them in one long quick stride. Hmm, perhaps he's an ex prize fighter, she thought. Or maybe he's in cahoots with the panhandler and they're playing good, vagrant, bad, great, vagrant, when in fact they're both bad guys. She walked the rest of the block with her ears strained for footsteps behind her. She adjusted the red silk scarf under the collar of her Chesterfield coat, making sure the strand of large pearls was concealed. They covered half a block without speaking, an uneasy silence hovered between them.