I was still holding him, so the dog was pretty close to eye level with the guy. I looked down in shock at the tiny, fluffy dog, who no longer looked so cute and helpless. His eyes were narrowed and locked on the guy’s, his top lip was drawn back, and he was baring tiny teeth that suddenly looked very sharp. And there was a low, steady, menacing growl coming from his throat. This dog may have weighed less than ten pounds, but he wasn’t messing around.

“Call off your dog,” the guy said, frowning at Brad, but I noticed he took a step back.

“He’s not my dog,” I said, rubbing Brad’s fur with the hand that was holding him.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” the guy said, flashing the blade again but keeping his eyes on Brad. “Just give me your phone!”

“I don’t have a phone,” I blurted.

“Everyone has a phone. Give it to me and I’ll be out of here.”

“I don’t,” I said, and my voice broke on the last word. It was maybe not surprising, considering that I was actively being mugged at the moment, but a second later, I burst into tears. It was suddenly all too much, all at once. “I—don’t—have—a—phone,” I sobbed. “I had one but then my best friend and I—had—had a fi-fi-fight,” I managed to get out, feeling hot tears hit my cheeks. I hated that I was crying, but that was only making me cry harder, because it’s embarrassing to cry in front of strangers. Even if they are trying to rob you. “And my phone f-fell on the tracks and then we got separated and I don’t know where she is and I have to find her or I’m just… just…” I wiped my non-Pomeranian hand across my face and remembered my eye makeup a second later, which made me cry harder. “And now you’re here and you don’t believe me and I don’t even have my wallet and you have a knife.…”

“Um,” the guy said, looking exceedingly freaked out. “Look, it’s okay, all right? See?” He pressed the blade down onto his hand and I gasped—and then saw that the blade had disappeared. He pulled it away and the blade popped out again. “It’s fake, okay? I got it at Tannen’s. This way, if I get caught, I can’t get in trouble, because it’s not a real knife.” He raised an eyebrow proudly.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. The surprise of the fake knife had given me a moment to pull myself together, and I wasn’t actively crying anymore. I took a sniffly breath. “That’s not—you’ll still get in trouble. Like when people rob banks pretending their fingers in their pockets are guns—they still get arrested.”