A brassy babe who works as an exotic entertainer, speaking freely in a Portland bar:

“In L.A. Skid Row was the place you wanted to avoid. There was this one horrible area, tough, right next to a real nice shopping mall, whatever sense that made. Of course, I had nice new shoes and wanted to look cute, so I needed my nails done. And you know, the ghetto is where nails are done—they do the best job.

“I pull up and I notice these two younger teens noticing me and I take note. So I parked so I could pull right off. When I came back out these two were closer and they tried to get me to give them something, asked me for something. I just [uses the negative finger wag] said, ‘Noah, nah, I’m not your victim,’ and got in my car as they ran up.

“No sooner then I had it looked, the kid was pulling on my door handle trying to get in, yelling at me to get out. The other kid was in front trying to block me with his body and there was this third guy that materialized behind the car. I revved it, was letting them know, and jerked the car forward a little and they still tried to get in front of me so I’d hit them. I missed them and pulled off, wasn’t waiting around for their older brothers to show up with a gun.

“I don’t want to hit them. But I was prepared to. I figured this goes to court and the nice looking white lady gets off.”

[And I thought, the rough looking white guy would never get off.]

…

A large burly man with a deep nasal voice chimes in;

“It was about ten years ago, at the 7-11 at 72nd and Powell. I was in the car with the babies while my wife was in the store. This hard looking Mexican dude with neck and face tattoos ina green SUV pulls up in front of me, gets out, and motions for me to unlock the door.

“I shook my head no and he motioned for me to do it again.

“I shook my head no and he got insistent and I was hoping he didn’t keep this up until the wife got out of the store. I didn’t need an altercation with this guy that looked like he had graduated with honors from the San Quinton school system.

“He walks beck in front of the car, mouths my license plate to me, points his hand like a gun at me and drops the thumb hammer then draws his finger across his throat and points at me before he rides off.

“I see this fucker pull into these cheep apartments so I take note. I go home and drink on it and it sticks in my guts. So I get my nine millimeter and get in the car, drunk as shit and drive over to the apartments.

[These types of apartments in Portland are constructed like the cheapest motels such that a car could certainly be driven clean through them at ground level.]

“I don’t see his green SUV and I get out and start yelling, ‘Where is the fucking greasy Mexican with the green SUV?’ No answer, so I pull out of the lot, so fucking drunk that I bang up someone’s parked car and go cruising for his SUV. I never find the green SUV. But I checked local media and there were two car jackings by a guy of that description in a green SUV.”

“I guess it was stupid of me to go out like that. But him threatening me just stuck in my crawl.”

[This writer things that hunting criminals is good, but that yelling for them is ill-advised.]