F3 Back on the Streets

            The old neighborhood looked pretty much the same as I remembered it. The market on the corner still sold fruits and vegetables as well as a few dry goods, though Prohibition had robbed the market of their wine. Neighborhood kids still played stickball in the streets. Everything about the town of Meridian was the same. Except for the name.
Made into part of the city of Belport, the area that the old town took up was now known as Meriville, but the people were the same. A boy and a girl bumped into me, one chasing the other, both around the age of ten. Before they could run past, laughing at their game of chase, I snagged them both by the backs of their shirts.

            “Give them back.”

            “What are you talking about, Mister?” the girl asked.

            “My wallet,” I said to the girl, “and my watch,” to the boy.

            They looked downcast, then handed over the items.

            “Don’t get greedy next time. Also, the bump is a classic, but hardly the best method. Next time I’ll take your cash. Wait, I did,” I pulled up the two dollars the boy had folded in his pocket.

            The neighborhood is still the same. I smiled.