I freeze.

I watch as you grab a suitcase from the baggage claim belt. My suit case.

Fuck.

You must have a suitcase that looks the same as mine. You’re a stranger, you have no idea that I work for the mafia. You have no idea that there’s slabs of cocaine and $1,000,000 in that suitcase you’re grabbing. In most cases a pretty girl accidentally taking your suitcase would be a great way to have an excuse to talk to them, but not in my case.

Not when I lead the life that I do.

Not when there’s coke and cash in my suitcase.

I move fast, pushing through the baggage claim crowd. “Wait! That’s mine.” I say with urgency, as I see you pick up the suitcase.