Living in Mission is rad... except for that coke dealer downstairs

I usually don't mind the druggies, drunks, and general debaucherous douche bags in my hood, but when shit turns up missing from my apartment complex, I get aggro.

So when I went downstairs to take a bike ride a couple weeks ago and found that my unlocked bike was missing its wheels I was heated.

Soooo!!!! I decided to stalk the downstairs walk way where the crime occurred.

Last night, during my nightly stalk, I saw a shadowy figure lurking about.

I ran upstairs, grabbed a flash light, and a knife, and proceeded (with the help of my roommate) to slyly go below from the fire escape. When I reached the ground level, I rushed the entrance with the light beaming in the darkness.

AAAAAAAAhhhh. I man started running. I started chasing. He stopped and turned around repeating, " Keys!! Keys!! I have Keys!!" He kept making short sniffing sounds. He was dancing with the white lady I presumed. I couldn't help but to feel sorry for the coke-head.

"Where the fuck are my wheels!!!" I demanded.

"I don't know. I have keys," he repeated.

I left the area a little more satisfied, but nonetheless troubled.

To be continued....