He must've been a rookie cop. The leather clip on his gun holster was undone. The utility belt that the holster was on hung asymmetrically on his thick waste. They never tighten them, the cops. I guess they make them look fat.
With his back turned on us, the rookie cop strolled along the sidewalk in front. I approached him real close. Without much thinking, I extended my hand, going for the gun. It was practically falling off of his a*s. It was more tempting than that red emergency break handle you see dangling in subway cars. My socialist Syrian friend, a known cop hater and fireball at anti-war demonstrations was horrified and giddy at the same time watching all this, while walking next to me. Literally, my fingers were just inches away from the gun. We kept up this delicate balancing act for about five street blocks.
If I ever grabbed the gun and he turned around I'd just say, you dropped this, I thought to myself. Would he arrest me or thank me? was the question that was going through my head.
My friend was sweating bullets the whole time and called me mad afterwards. Apparently we passed some parked police cruisers along the way. I was so zoned in, I didn't even notice. I never grabbed the cop's gun. He never turned around.