That's Nice Lemme See It
by Stefi Sparer
Hannah is getting mad because it's "late" and she needs to get home.
"OK," I say, leaning against my car, no doubt getting dirt all over me, "Just let me take one more picture."
I can tell she's mad, but she loves being the center of attention so she gives in, "One more picture."
"One more," I echo as a BMW holding two men pulls into the empty parking spot next to my car. It is so smooth and shiny and black compared to my dust caked Dodge. I want to run my hand over it just to smudge it.
"Hey girls," a man, around thirty who watches too much HBO nods to the group. It is obviously one or both of the men in the car are drunk. "What are you girls up to?" He takes a puff of his cigar. I almost laugh at his New York accent, which is so thick and distinct that it sounds fake.
Hannah is having a small panic attack quietly next to me. Like a good friend, I ignore her.
"Just hanging out," I answer, and eye them suspiciously. The driver winks at me and I shudder. They were the sleaziest looking dirt-bags on the face of the planet.
"That's cool, that's cool. My friend and I here are just looking for some people to hang out with," he nods to the camera hanging around my neck. My new DSLR Nikon D40. My relatively expensive new camera. The “perfect started DSLR” says Wired. And I listened to Wired because Jenna Fisher was on the cover. "You takin' pictures? Here, let me take a picture of you girls together." He puts his cigar back in his mouth and reaches out his hand, but I instinctively begin to clutch my camera, like a mother protecting her baby. And ain’t no one gon’ hurt my baby.
"No, that's OK," I say.
"What?" he asks, adjusting the collar on his white polo shirt so that it was popped, just like that perpetually drunk college student going to State who wishes they were at Stanford and every creepy man going through a mid-life crisis wears it. "You think I'm gonna steal your camera?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, "Well, fo-get you! Fo-get yo camera! We're going!" He throws his arms in the air and motions to the driver, "Let's bounce!"
Let's bounce? Doesn't he know it's only cool to say that ironically?
I give him the sideways peace sign, which he probably doesn't realize means "fuck you" in the UK.
"Peace!" he shouts out the window.
"Later, dude," I reply.
Hannah is white as a ghost, "We. Almost. Just. Died."
I roll my eyes and snap a photo. It’s bad and I reposition myself to get a better angle. "No,” I say, “But we almost just had my camera stolen."