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I smelled garbage. When I opened my eyes, I saw garbage. And a rat as big as a Boston terrier, digging into the trash near my head. Before I could scream, a gunshot went off with a sharp metallic crack and the rat scrambled away over my feet.

I didn't make a sound because I realized I could smell cordite -- I must be very near the shooter. I would have put my hand in my mouth to keep from screaming but I figured I must be covered in garbage so I just bit my lip. hard enough I tasted blood.

I couldn't see much, some light came in through a slit about my eye level, made a bit wider by the exit of my neighbor the giant rat. I could see two men, struggling with a gun -- not ten feet away! A brilliant light from somewhere illuminated the one guy's face, but I didn't recognize him.

"One of us has to die," said the guy I could see.

"You!" said the other and a gunshot rang out again.

The face I saw but didn't recognize registered pain then nothing at all. I had just witnessd a murder.

I couldn't stand it anymore. While the killer bent over his victim, I scrambled around and kicked the lid of the dumpster open and rolled off the garbage to fall on the ground. That's when I discovered that I had on high heels and a pink plastic minidress!

He brought the gun up, swearing. I kicked him in the knee and threw garbage in his face. Then I ran for it, high heels or not, running into the darkness like my life depended on it.

"Goddammit, you little whore!" I heard him yell and I ducked around an even darker corner just before he fired the gun a third time. The ricochet sounded just like it does in a movie and scared me almost more than the gunshot itself.

I ran on my toes like I'd been running in high heels all my life. If he found me, he'd kill me. I didn't know him so I could hope he didn't know me. I heard heavy feet running behind me and then, some distance away but getting closer, sirens. Someone else had heard the shots.

I heard more cursing somewhere but no footsteps or gunshots. I found an unlocked door and opened it, twisting the bolt to lock as soon as I was inside. A flight of stairs led upward and I ran up them, a little wobbly now from terror and exhaustion. I stopped at the top, panting.

A door opened at the other end of a short hall and a woman came out. The dim light showed long red hair piled high, a voluptuous figure clothed in a turquoise teddy and a heavily made-up but concerned face. "Who is it?" she asked. "Who are you, miss? What's happening?"

I realized I couldn't answer her questions. I couldn't think of a name, drawing a complete blank there. I didn't want to tell her about the murder because she might call the cops. And I didn't want to meet any cops.

Because the only thing I did know -- despite how I was dressed -- I wasn't a girl!