IRIS

1. THE CHOPPING BLOCK

On the outside, it seemed like a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. On the inside, it was actually much worse.

Had she gotten the address wrong? She searched again, checked with Google Maps... she had not. Why didn't they warn her beforehand? She was not dressed for such a location. It was a rinky dink bar and "restaurant" full of shady men, drinking and playing pool.

She looked at her classmate, Lucy, and they clung to each other. They were supposed to interview people about their daily life, and reality in their community for their Community Social Work Capstone Project, in partnership with Americorps, but this didn't seem like a safe spot to do it. Regardless, they were professionals, and got to work.

Unbeknownst to her, she had several eyes on her. She clearly seemed out of place, with boot cut jeans, a tucked in pink polo shirt and cardigan jacket. She had colorful miss-matched socks, red loafers, thick rim black glasses, brown sugar skin, and long curly black hair with red highlights that matched her jacket and shoes.

She was 27 years old, but frankly, no matter how professional she dressed, she looked young, sparkly, and happy; a stark contrast to the men who surrounded her, who seemed down on their luck and ridden with hopelessness. The place was dimly lit, and monochromatic gray dominated the "decor".

She was the direct antithesis of her location. She was a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie with sprinkles in a pack of stale white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.

She and her classmate introduced themselves, asking questions for their survey. Some of the men just shooed them away, but didn't threaten them. Surprisingly, so far, most cooperated and thanked them for their interest in their community, and their bravery for stepping in that place.

The Chopping Block wasn't exactly known for its upstanding citizen clientele. Things were going pretty well, but she could now feel eyes on her. She looked around, but couldn't pinpoint anyone.

"Iris, your biases are showing. Stop being paranoid. This is actually not bad. Do your job!" No matter how hard she tried to control her thoughts though, she had a bad feeling, and was hyper alert.

Suddenly, across the room, near the entrance, a fight was brewing between two men over whether or not one had accidentally touched the cue ball with his stick, causing a scratch. This would give ball-in-hand to the other, and quite possibly the game. Only the 8-ball remained.

"That seems like a silly reason to fight" she thought out loud. She raised her hand and took a step to try to diffuse the situation, "Excuse m..." just then, a man stepped in front of her, blocking her path. He slowly backed up, making her move backwards as well. He was dressed in a white sleeveless shirt, and black vest, black tie, black pants, and boots.

He moved his head to the side to talk from the corner of his mouth. "It's not silly. This can cost the man with the mustache three thousand dollars. The other one, with the scar, is a known cheat. He's definitely trying to hustle him out of the money." The door behind you is the exit to the back. This is not ending well. Tell your friend to hurry on out outta here."

She obeyed, and her friend left, but then she stayed put herself. Iris was fascinated by what was happening. She thoughtlessly put her hands on the man's shoulders, taking him by surprise, and whispered in his ear "Shouldn't we try to help? There are ways to solve this. They can rerack a few balls and start over." She went to move forward, and he grabbed her by the arm, just as the men got physical with each other.

In a matter of seconds, the whole room was in a brawl, bottles and chairs flying. The man turned Iris towards his chest protecting her from a projectile coming straight to her face. It got him in the arm instead. When guns were drawn, he grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the back door just before bullets began flying.