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Age Coach
A Fresh Harm City Face
Early in the afternoon on father’s day, I noted, for the second week since the ascension of Our Lord Floyd, that the complexion of the Baltimore County/City border zone remains abruptly changed.
These areas are 80% ivory, but when driving or walking 90% of people sighted outside would be ebony. The schools were stocked almost exclusively with bussed in ebony, who would then terrorize the area.
The people on the street are now almost exclusively unmasked ivories with the occasional masked ebony.
Those who live in fear of the outdoors has suddenly reversed.
Police patrolling has resumed on residential side streets, something halted after the 2015 Purge.
The police are now policing ivories. While the cops have long been disallowed from going after 12 O’clock boyz speeding on ATVs and dirt bags on streets, I saw a BPD officer in Hamilton going after two ivory boys who were checking the clutch on a dirt bike—not even riding it around—on a grassy lot next to an unused school.
As night fell five cops—some masked—converged on an Amazon Prime van in Loch Raven Village. It seems to have been carjacked.
An uptick in hits on delivery vehicles can be expected as so many folks stay home and order online. As these cops do their work an ebon knight speeds right by them on an off-road vehicle and their eyes go downcast as the shadow of the avenging angel of the Lord soars ominously by.
Back in The Oaks it is the same, with family paleface scenes long forgotten now being reenacted before dark. After dark the mud sharks emerge with their fatherless caramel chyles to howl, double park, cavort and let their toddlers play and bray until midnight.
A hooker comes and goes with a customer.
The nice, employed bantu man, with his bottle in the black bag, makes his evening journey home from work and says good evening to us sitting on the stoop.
Fireworks, near professional level explosions and colors, rock the neighborhood every second block. Even on 4th of July, I have never seen this many fireworks in this area—why not, its Juneteenth after all and Floyd smiles down.
The Generals have largely been absent. I suppose they are fighting a turf battle against MS-13 somewhere near. One of their scouts, a muscular Yutish Warrior on a stolen boy’s bike peddles slowly up the middle of the street scouting, looking for marks and he and eye lock eyes and eye fuck each other. I decide to break his feet if he ever gets into range. Casting the shadow of the fiend has been easy around here. Ever since my December truce with the Generals they will not even cut through the Land Lady’s yard. She is the only alley access house in the area they don’t use for their ease of movement.
It is almost surprising, enjoying a second youth as some kind of half-mythic criminal, since I’ve lost weight and decided I’ll never kneel. I had forgotten that when you make violent decisions to draw a line in your mind that the gossamer veil of society cannot conceal your dark light from the criminals in blue or the gods of dusky hue.
Being undead has turned out to be a fine life choice.
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Don QuotaysAugust 3, 2020 7:36 PM UTC

There's something about total commitment, good or bad, that radiates off a person and those who are aware can pick it up.