Best thing about working for the bare minimum wage? Getting home at night. I couldn't afford bus fare, and I didn't know what was worse – the fact that I didn't make enough money or that the bus fare was too expensive for minimum wage.

Cue the Proletariat Choir to sing us a song about angry people doing angry things and being angry about everything while being dirty and wearing lovely costumes.

No bus meant walking, and unless I wanted to walk an extra hour and a half to avoid the sketchy sections of town, I had to walk the streets that 'girls weren't supposed to go down by themselves.' Did I qualify as a girl in my sexy linen pants, now made borderline irresistible with their haute couture cream soda spackling?

Yes, screamed my inner 'what the fuck is wrong with you' voice. Some freak somewhere would find my uniform sexy, my cream soda coating hot, and wouldn't need any excuse other than the fact that I'm a living, breathing female to do shitty things to me.

The parking lot of Foodsave was nice and lit. The first stretch home was one of those friendly suburban streets where everyone mowed their lawn and made sure everyone else mowed their lawn by walking by and making passive-aggressive statements on their weighted ankle jogs about how they wouldn't let what's happening to that lawn happen to their property. I didn't have to worry about running into any of those people at eleven o'clock at night.

A couple of right turns followed by a left, and we were in Dodge. As in dodgy. Was it the smell? The flickering streetlights? Whatever it was, I tucked my keys between my fingers, uncapped my mace, and walked as fast as possible.

I heard shouting when I got about halfway down the block, just past a boarded-up Mongolian grill.

That was my filter working overtime again just there. Women scream. Men shout. At least when I think filter-style. This was screaming. A man was screaming across the street.

Smart Mac Dorvis (don't ask about my last name – I don't know jack shit about it) would hoist her backpack onto her shoulders a little higher and pick up the pace. Alas, I was not smart Mac Dorvis. These weren't garden-variety screams, trying to get attention or shock-and-awe someone into fucking off. This was terror. Someone was in real trouble.

Fuck.

I made sure the keys were firmly between my fingers – no sense cutting myself to shit while fighting for my life. I shook my head as I hoofed it across the street – who the fuck did I think I was?

I wasn't thinking. That was the problem. This was all gut. Fuck glory. Someone was in trouble.

Some piece of shit car rolled past, not even slowing as more screams echoed in the night. Was their music too loud? Were they engaged in some meaningful conversation? More likely they didn't give a shit, or if they did give a shit, it wasn't enough of a shit to do anything about it. I hustled across the street, cursing at them under my breath once they'd passed.

Another scream. Something solid hit something less solid, like a fist to a ribcage. An alley branched off from the main street, one side a boarded up Italian deli, the other side a 24-hour pawnshop with a 'Back in 5 Min' sign taped to the door. The sign looked like it had been slapped up there five years ago. Don't you love urban decay?

Not far down the alley was a dumpster, a run-of-the-mill trash heap that people from other parts of town used illegally when they didn't want to drive to the dump with the weird shit they wanted gone. Someone was standing over someone else just behind it. A smarter girl would stop and bellow something, call the cops, find something heavy and throw it.

Not Mac Dorvis. I barely slowed down as I launched myself at the dude and jammed my keys into his left asscheek.

"What the fuck?" The dude howled and swung his elbows backward in full panic mode. I could tell his plan that night had not included a short chick with speed skater legs trying to pierce his ass with a house key. I dodged his first swing but flung myself too far the other way, just in time for his other elbow to clock me one right in the nose. My vision went white, my nose exploded, but I didn't let go. I fish-hooked the fucker, without even meaning to. My flailing arms and fingers caught him in the mouth, and I held on for dear life until he finally managed to shake me off.

"What the fuck?" he repeated, and as I hit the ground, he gave me a kick in the ribs before taking off. The wind flew out of my lungs, and I expected the worst. I could barely see, my nose was probably broken, and I was winded. If anyone wanted to take advantage of anything I had to offer, now was the time.

"I'll stab you in the eyes, motherfucker!" I snarled. Okay, maybe I wasn't going to make things easy on them. How much of that was bravado, and how much was me willing to stab someone in the eyes? Did I have that in me? Would I even be able to find the dude's eyes in my current state?

"Fuck off!" The dude didn't wait around to find out. He took off down the alley without another word, a hitch in his step on the left side, thanks to my quality ass-stabbing. Maybe that cheek was permanently damaged. I hoped it would hurt for days.

Finally, I could turn my attention to the poor bastard Asscheek had been working on. Some of those punches I'd heard before I got there sounded rough, so I was surprised to see a skinny man in rough shape shuffling over to me as I peeled myself off the ground to an awkward sit.

"You okay?" I asked.

Dude never said a word. He bent down, grabbed my backpack from where it had landed (I didn't even remember it falling off), and raced back up the alley to the main street. There went my wallet, my money, my ID, everything. I had my phone, and I had my keys. Tomorrow was going to be a pain in the ass with calls and getting replacements for everything, but that wasn't the point. I'd just gone full lunatic Batman for that motherfucker, and he stole my shit.

Would I do the same thing again next time? Most likely. I was dumb like that.

I wasn't dumb enough to wait around for anyone to come back and finish me off or take more of my crap, so I dragged myself up, leaned on the wall of the eternal pawnshop, and stumbled home.

My castle was an illegal basement suite - and not even the whole thing. The shitty landlord, Mr. Zunt, had slapped a plywood wall between a room barely big enough for one person. There wasn't even an official bathroom. Yeah, I had a toilet. And a sink. And I brushed my teeth in the same sink where I washed my dishes. Could I afford anything else? Nope. Was I inside for the time being? Yup. Did my ribs or nose care right now? Fuck no. I collapsed on my air mattress and fell asleep before you could say tooth decay.