Mildly interesting stories that have no place elsewhere.

Sometimes I have mildy interesting thoughts/memories, but they die because I don't have a twitter (because I know nobody would care). We can just dump these here and let them die here.
I'll start off.

 

This is the a very long story.

Spoiler: Click here if you feel like reading the thrilling tale of a psychotic stealer of pants

I was once walking down a back lane in a small town with my good friend.

A break in the fence of the lane, not far from a main road, was the entrance to a strip mall which housed our destination, the local 7-11.
Before we could get to the break in the fence a man emerged asking if we were wearing jeans. Very plainly, my friend and I both were equipped with denim. The man was mumbling something about "this is goona be a shitty situation" and how he really needed our jeans. He was wearing grey sweats. He asked for our pants a few more times and my friend and I were like "Man, go home and get your own pants.". I gather that he was on some good drugs and had soiled himself.

Myself being the more timid member of our duo and on the side furthest from an opening around the man he senses my fear and weakness and I am thusly advanced upon by him. He says "You're gonna give me your pants." Struck with fear I repeat "You need to go get your own pants."
The man advances and I step back. He says, "Yeah, this is happening.". I look at my friend and say loudly, "What do I do <insert name>?!", he replies, "I don't know man!"

The man continues to advance. The look in his eyes tells me he genuinely wants my pants. Images of him ripping off my jeans and acquiring the contents flash though my mind. There's no way I'm going to let that happen. I turn and bolt in the other direction closely pursued by the seeker of fresh pants. He is shouting, "GIVE ME YOUR PANTS!". I in turn scream, "I'M NOT GIVING YOU MY F***ING PANTS!!". Our banter was repeated several times. Keep in mind that I am sprinting faster than I ever have and screaming at the top of my lungs. My intoxicated state is probably all that allowed me to scream and run so hard at the same time.

About 50 metres from our start point I stop and try to turn and run back to my friend. The man takes this opportunity to grab my hood. I stumble slightly as the man tries to pull me down by my hood. Thank goodness for poor-quality stitching - the hood rips clean off and he falls. I book it back down the alley towards the 7-11. I turn once I am back 50 metres to see that my pursuer is sitting on the gravel looking defeated. My friend is nowhere to be found so I begin to shout my friends name. I hear no reply so I go to the 7-11 to call my friend's cellphone in safety.

My friend apparently had called the cops. We spoke with an officer at the 7-11. Through my gasps for oxygen I tell my side of the story and in turn my friend tells his side. Apparently we made that officer's night by telling him the most bewildering event of his career. He saw our bloodshot eyes and offered us a ride home.

As we approached the police cruiser I could see through the gap in the fence a minivan driving slowly down the alley, clearly intrigued by my blood-curdling screams.

I returned the next day to find my hood laying in the dust. I retrieved it as a memento. Unfortunately I have lost it since then. Probably threw it out, I'm not very sentimental - especially about being scared to death.

Recalling this event still makes my heart race.

tl;dr
A man chased me because he wanted my jeans