BOSS MAN

He watched from afar as the store owner opened up shop. He knew what he was doing there, he had a purpose. To keep Wesley Lyons out of his store. But Wess didn’t like that idea. This was why he needed to get inside the chipped building, and to get that shirt. The last shirt he needed for his collection, and the last shirt he could get his hands on before moving from Detroit. Stealthily did he walk, behind the dark smelling cars and wet mouthed dogs trying to stop him from doing his mission.
Wess walked around the building, trying to avert the gaze of the store owner, unfazed that this scheme was about to play down again. Wess made it to the back door, large and metallic, with a strong, sour odor of cigars. He knew that the shirt was hanging up right on the other side. All he had to do was push it open and snatch it from the rung it is hanging from. It didn’t take long for him to try and push open the door, finding himself standing in front of a scruffy man with stains and a face that meant Wess wasn’t welcome. Slamming  the metallic door, he made sure it was locked. This wasn’t going to be easy.
He snuck around again to the front of the red building, Wess made sure his stock of blond hair didn’t show above the huge window. Many days before this scheme was tried, but this was going to be perfect. He stood straight up, all six feet of him, and waltzed right through that screen door, right past the store owner, only to be backhanded and sat on the curb once more.
The store owner had both beady eyes locked tight on him, like a vulture scouting his lunch. Wess tried once more, only to discover the glossy sign right above the narrow doorway for the first time, reading NO TEENAGERS. Wess saw his own blue eyes reflect off of the sign, full of determination. This guy was tough. Wess decided to throw in the towel for today, and ask advice. His friends soon pitched an idea. They would distract the store owner while Wess made his way inside. They wouldn't get anything of course, Wess didn't do favors.
The next day while he waited around the corner, Wess’s friends banged on the metal door in the back of the old crusty brick store, yelling and screaming and making as much noise as possible.
“Yo! Boss man! If ya gotta ‘nough smarts to mess with our pal, you mess with us!”
“Your stanky rear betta’ leave him alone, or we’ll pop ya one, pops!” The store clerk retorted back the threats with words of his own.
Soon he could hear the high pitched screech, and he was off. Making his way weaving through the store, he fumbled the black, red and gold shirt and bolted out, holding on with a death grip. He noticed some other things that would come in handy, but felt like he was being watched and couldn’t stop for anything. He was as nervous as a rich girl in the ghetto, sweat dripping down his face.
Never had he tried this, but yet he has been wanting to  do it. Tripping over a metal clothing hanger on the floor, he fell with a deafening boom. Stunned, he made sure all of himself was okay, and quickly but not as, made his way through the screen door and all the way across the busy street. It wreaked, compared to the sweet cologne-smelling store. But this was the city, what else did he expect? As he weaved through the sea of cars, he felt as though the store owner was breathing down his neck, sharp eyes still watching him. Finally, he made his way through, relieved.
After sitting on the opposite curb of the street, regaining his breath from the excitement, he fumbled for the shirt. Of all his collections of foreign t-shirts, this was by far the best. He soon then realized. Turning to look behind him he then felt disappointment fill himself. He never did know that he dropped it in the street. Staring at the object he longed to have, he watched it get pummeled over and over by roaring cars. Wet puddles drenched it and ruined it every time it was flattened by the moving tons of metal. Wess soon realized that collecting and running, was all for nothing.