Living in the Ghetto

Well, we’re not real­ly, but I just wit­nessed a street dra­ma unfold in front of our apart­ment build­ing. I don’t know what it was all about but it involved a lot of scream­ing, many men­tions of the f- and b-words, boys beat­ing each oth­er up, and a girl cry­ing hys­ter­i­cal­ly. Some­body must’ve called the police because soon two police cars arrived on the scene, com­plete with the siren, but only after the kids had left. Well, one par­ty was still there but they were leav­ing and were most like­ly try­ing to act nor­mal to avoid sus­pi­cion. The police were only a cou­ple of min­utes late, so their response time actu­al­ly wasn’t so bad. Phew. I was kind of wor­ried that some­one would seri­ous­ly get hurt, or that some­one would pull out a gun and start shoot­ing ran­dom­ly, but I guess I would have to live in a ghet­to­er area for that to hap­pen.

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