I have had numerous suburban white women tell me that the female mayor is politically doomed because the black population will be upset with her handling of the riots. Before jumping to such conclusions, we should consider that residents of Baltimore’s ghettos are used to a little more excitement than the typical white suburbanite, and might even be thankful to the mayor for that closet full of tennis shoes their son hauled home.
You know when you live in a bad area when a car backfires and everyone hits the deck. After living out in Tall Trees for a few months hitting the floor in a prone position was second nature.
Now, there was Terrence, who lived downstairs, who used to step outside with his twenty-two pistol every night at nine-forty-five and pop off a few rounds.
One night, I had some straight white friends over from Towson to play Dungeons and Dragons. I was well established in the community as Columbine Joe—people did not fuck with me; crazy white guy with facial piercings, long hair and a trench coat. I’m the guy the cops fuck with first, so there is some value in the community to that as well. Primarily we’re living there to be close to the drug supply and be able to smoke when we want. I worked out in Owings Mills—like a two hour commute.
Well we’re sitting there playing D&D and we hear this pop-pop-pop-pop and my Towson buddies are wigging, “Call the cops, oh my God, call the cops!”
I just said, “Be cool, it’s just Terrence. I’ll take care of this.”
I open the window, and I yell down to Terrence, “Hey Terrence, could you keep it down please. You’re scaring my guests. I’ve got white people from Towson up here.”
Terence was cool, yelled back, “Sorry Columbine, Sorry white people. You all have a nice night, white people!”
Terrence was cool like that—good people.
