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Uber Joe’s Swan Song
From Harm County, Maryland to York, Pennsylvania, 7/21/17

Uber Joe picked me up for the first leg of the journey into central Pennsylvania, to fight a Christian Soldier in his prime. With the Harm City Heathens now scattered like rune dust across the continent, it’s looking like a rough day at the office for this old Odinist. But Uber Joe came through, charging me only $40 cash instead of the quoted $135 Uber fee.

On the way out of town we discussed the Black Guerilla Family Truce, with a rival gang, brokered by a police official, which stated that neither gang would sanction any killings for 72-hours, from this Friday morning through Sunday night, promising to internally punish any transgressors. [5 people were killed over the weekend, 4 blacks and a Latino.]

Uber Joe asked, “What does The Violence Guy think about that?”

“It’s a brilliant gamble. If the truce is honored by the 100-odd minor gangs, then the BGF will immediately have more civic legitimacy, than the Baltimore Police Department and the Mayor’s Office.

“On the other hand, if the killings continue as usual, or if the small sets, who have largely been allied with the police against the three major gangs, decide to take care of some business while the major powers stand down, than the BGF—which has been the prime focus of local and federal law enforcement efforts—will be in a position to claim innocence and persecution, again, increasing their standing with their political base. At this point, the larger gangs are political, because if no one in the community “snitches” on them they will remain viable no matter the drug warrior attempts to take them down.”

As We Cruise into York

Shirtless hoodrats and incubating breeders wearing not much more are walking the 7 a.m. streets of this small Pennsylvania town and Uber Joe says, “Looks just like a slice of Baltimore. Look at that hideous thing there [pregnant in hot pants and wife beater] with one in the oven and advertising for the next baby daddy. I won’t miss this job—the car dealership hired me for forty-five a year. I’d say seventy percent of the dindu women I transport are pregnant and most of them are headed to clinics of one kind or another.”

As I congratulated and thanked Uber Joe and he dropped me off in front of the York Central Market a toothless dindu approached me asking for something. As I ignored him, Uber Joe said, “Enjoy your stay! Aren’t you glad you left Baltimore behind?”

Comprehending the words of Uber Joe, the broken-tusked hoodrat mumbled at me with eyes wide, “Bowlmore? You bringin’ dat bad shit up in hea?” and walked off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he eyed the fencing mask and stick bundle in my hands with wary suspicion and walked away down the alley.

Welcome to Harm City, White-Boy

Narco Night Train Kindle Edition

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