Gypsies

Today I had my first run in with a gypsy. It went well. I was really looking forward to seeing a clan of gypsies, the more the better.  I thought they might be seen strolling barefoot along the bohemian streets of Prague, smoking out of weird pipes and shaking a tambourine.  Sorry to inform you of this, but those gypsies are extinct, or highly endangered at least. Most of the gypsies I have seen in passing are lone wolves. They usually have dreadlocks and are carrying a bag of some sort. The best part of passing a gypsy is turing to the person next to you and whispering "gypsy" as if you are seeing a unicorn and its a secret.

The gypsy today was more inconspicuous. I wouldn't have really known he was a gypsy judging by his clothing but he had that look in your eye that said "yes, yes I am a gypsy". He was wearing a really dirty jacket and was in dire need of a bath. He came into the metro and was leaning on the door behind me. My friend Elizabeth and I were really excited because we ran into another American who was studying abroad in barcelona. In the midst of the conversation, I felt a little vibration and I thought it might be my phone. I turned to reach into my bag and BAM, the gypsy had made his move. He withdrew his hand, which was lingering near my bag and looked at me like he had accidently bumped into me. We both knew what he was really doing but he literally leaned back to the door, simply shrugged, and said "sorry". I can't really find words to express the awkward exchange. I looked at him like he had clumsily stepped on my foot or something and I sort of just scoffed and looked away. That was it. It was like I was not capable of being mad at the gypsy because he was just being a gypsy. I walked out of the metro station looking through my bad. The only things I cared about, camera and wallet, were still tucked away in my pocket. But did he take anything else? I may never know...