All has remained calm and peaceful on the streets. No reports of shots fired, or large brawls, or fires. But it is still early and only an hour into the game. The Enoch Pratt Free Library stood as it was, a plain municipal building in Baltimore City, with flowery and colorful signs, distracting onlookers away from the plainness. In the front, long spans of windowpanes gleamed on the desolate city streets, and behind, a small parking lot and emergency exits laid, with no windows and no flowery signs.

A small group of teenagers were gathered in the parking lot, some on bicycles and some on foot. A 30 pack of Nattie Boh, Baltimore’s beloved cheap malt beverage, sat halfway gutted to the side as the boys were sipping away. Some of them were also smoking cigarettes and rolled Marijuana. They chatted away, at this moment, relatively harmless. Most of them were Black, some mixed, and predominantly male, with the exception of two girls, who were dressed in t-shirts and jeans, blending in with the crowd.

As they were chatting away, a silver Honda civic, seemingly brand new rolled quietly into the lot, parking in a rather poor fashion. Five people, three men, who were more well dressed, and two skinny young girls stepped out, in short dresses and high heels.

The two females in the crowd looked over. The one female was short, heavyset with intricate braiding against her scalp. Her partner in crime was a taller, more heavyset female with curly locks and faux blonde highlights.

The girls that freshly exited the car were tall, slender, one with a really dark complexion, and one with a lighter, caramel complexion. The darker girl gad her hair straight and smooth, with a dainty white dress with red and black floral patterns, and a pair of stilettos. She had on a pair of genuine gold earrings and a small gold chain around her neck. The lighter girl was wearing a hot pink strapless dress, a pair of black high heels, a silver chain around her neck and a dainty pair of silver hoops.

The two females in the crowd scowled upon them.

The men exchanged greetings, and began to talk amongst themselves leaving the two girls leaning against the wall glaring upon the two intruders who were staring back at them with snobbery and conceit.

The short female scowled at the tall light skin girl, noticing the glare, she crossed her arms and words began to exchange.

“Who the hell do you think you’re looking at?”

The short girl’s stare started to become cold, and her partner in crime intervened.

“If I were you hos, I’d get your trampy asses back in the car now.”

“Uh uh…who do you think you’re talking to?” the tall, dark skinned girl replied.

One of the debonairs looked over, but declined to care.

“I don’t think you know who I am, boo,” the light skinned girl responded.

“A dead bitch,” the short girl said, as she kept her arms folded.

The debonair looked over again.

The light skinned girl pulled a silver switchblade from the valley of her brassiere and began to unearth it.

The other girl laughed and she kept her cold gaze.

The debonair continued to give quick glances, seemingly apathetic, but well aware.

“A bitch with a knife ain’t shit if she can’t fight,” the tall heavy set girl said.

The light skinned girl held her knife, with a tight grip, waiting for a move to be made. She knew the girls in this area would have not taken a likeness to her kind, but she was afraid. Although she’s trekked through the ghetto before, she has not lived in the ghetto, and was under heavy duty protection, but not tonight.

The tall, dark-skinned girl stood bewildered, trying her hardest not to show fear, she was born in the slums of Northwest Baltimore, but was raised in the lushness of Catonsville, she, like her partner in crime, had seen the ghetto, but never had to experience it.

Her only hope is to get away from this situation alive.

The debonair was now nowhere to be seen, and his co-op was sitting by the wall, chasing down a can of keystone.

The short girl began to lung, and with a split second dropped as the sound, of what was silence, made a clean shot to her head.

The crowd began to disperse, but one by one, bodies began to fall, leaving the two posh girls covered in blood, mortified.

A black Cadillac rolled up, and a familiar face rolled down the window.

A young, thuggish Black man, still armed with the pistol began to holler.

“Trina! Nikka! The fuck you doing here in these parts. Get the fuck in the car!”

Recognizing the familiar face, the girls twirled their hair, and with a walk of confidence proceeded to the car.

They survived.