But it does have its share of whit trash kids that think they are from the ghetto. They are 3months behind on their rent but they drive a new car all decked out, just begging to be lifted. The recent changes in the city I live in are causing the low-income people to come across the freeway into the "singles and divorced" housing.

"Hey." I hear from behind me. "Hey you, white boy!" I hear a shrill voice chirp. I ignore it and keep walking to my apartment.

"You better turn around white boy! You the one who scratched my car?"

"You saying I did it?" I say over my shoulder.

"What?" The voice says even louder than before. I just keep walking toward the building keeping my hearing pointed behind me. Waiting on the rushing of footsteps.

"Look at me when I talk to you!"

Here he comes.

As I turn slowly around to meet gangster boy, my ears tell me that he's wearing flip-flops. And that sends a smile to my otherwise blank face.

"What you smilin fo?" The white kid says to me.

"OH...nothing"

"Ain’t gonna be smilin soon with my foot in yo ass."

He blatantly telegraphs his punch by pulling his fist past his shoulders like he's about to throw a shot put. Before he connects I put my fingers under his pectoral muscle near the armpit, my thumb goes in near his nipple dividing the muscle in half, and then I make a fist.

He completely forgets about that punch he was going to throw and gives out a sharp yelp. That's when my boot comes down on the top of his bar foot. I hear something pop down below. I put pressure on his foot and keep my fist clenched in his chest muscle.

My other hand comes in on his throat with my thumb under his Adams apple.

"Listen to me..." I say to him with my words trailing so he'll understand. "Listen to me....If I scratched your car I would've been man enough to tell you. I am also man enough not to use my girlfriend as a punching bag." I emphasize bag by trying to get my thumb and fingers to touch under the skin of his chest. Tears run down out of his wide eyes, but he's silent, silent like when your father threatens to kill you if you don't shut up. His breath is shallow and fast.He's very scared right now. I keep him there with me in silence. He eyes dart back and forth to mine, other than that he is completely still. My eyes are like a concrete drill pushing themselves through his head.

Then I let him go, he collapses onto the pavement staring up at me. Mr. bigshot, with his silver chains and his sideways hat. He's nothing but a little boy now. A scared little boy that knows he could've almost died a few minutes ago.

He sat there in the parking lot for two hours by my watch, then he brushed himself off and hobbled off into his apartment.