My New Bike
"NO!" you bellow. "My mom said I can't!" And you make a desperate attempt to pedal away from the scene before thing gets ugly...
Unfortunately, the kid with the bandana grabs you by the hair preemptively, and your poor bike falls to the pavement with a horrible CRASH! "What I fuckin' tell you, bitch!?" he snarls as he tosses you the cold, hard, litter-strewn ground. The rest of his friends begin to laugh and cheer him on rambunctiously. "Didn't I tell you 'get off that damn bike fore sumfin bad happens'? Now you gone and done it. I'ma have to whoop yo little cracker ass." He cracks his knuckles and advances on you.
"NO!" you scream, struggling to your feet. "STOP!" He kicks wildly and manages to catch you in the face with his clean, white tennis shoes, sending you sprawling back to the pavement once more. He lands blow after blow to your head, ribs, and gut, leaving you in a state of utter shock. You begin to cough up blood, at which point he stops.
"Hey," says one of the boys. "This little white boy took that beatdown alright. We needs us a white boy in our gang, you know, for when we gots to deal with them po-pos. We needs us a mule, dawg." The boy with the bandana looks at you and scratches his scruffy chin in thoughtful observation. "You got a point there," he concedes. "Hey, momma's boy, how'd you like to be the newest addition to the 4th St. Hustlaz?"
Unfortunately, the kid with the bandana grabs you by the hair preemptively, and your poor bike falls to the pavement with a horrible CRASH! "What I fuckin' tell you, bitch!?" he snarls as he tosses you the cold, hard, litter-strewn ground. The rest of his friends begin to laugh and cheer him on rambunctiously. "Didn't I tell you 'get off that damn bike fore sumfin bad happens'? Now you gone and done it. I'ma have to whoop yo little cracker ass." He cracks his knuckles and advances on you.
"NO!" you scream, struggling to your feet. "STOP!" He kicks wildly and manages to catch you in the face with his clean, white tennis shoes, sending you sprawling back to the pavement once more. He lands blow after blow to your head, ribs, and gut, leaving you in a state of utter shock. You begin to cough up blood, at which point he stops.
"Hey," says one of the boys. "This little white boy took that beatdown alright. We needs us a white boy in our gang, you know, for when we gots to deal with them po-pos. We needs us a mule, dawg." The boy with the bandana looks at you and scratches his scruffy chin in thoughtful observation. "You got a point there," he concedes. "Hey, momma's boy, how'd you like to be the newest addition to the 4th St. Hustlaz?"