A Question of Power

Stumbling home. Dark. Cold.
A wallet full of money, where is the bus?
Small noises everywhere.
They don't sound like a bus.
Dirty-smelly-old-bum ran up behind,
Ripped my shirt to stop me.
That stopped me.
"Sir", he croaked, "May I borrow a moment of
your time?"
I tore away from him.
"Sir? Just a moment..."
Didn't look back.
WHERE IS THE BUS?
Wanted to scream, wanted to breathe,
Started to run.
Then I heard the shot.
I turned.
He was on the ground.
Sighing.
Gun still in his hand.
That stopped me.