Mister Jim, I’m so glad I got a chance to give you a lift. You, of all people, should know what has been happening to motorists in Baltimore. It’s just crazy. I work downtown and get off work at four in the afternoon—the end of day has been moved back because it’s just to dangerous after dark—just carayzee, just ridiculous. Our employer utilizes social media feeds to apprise us of dangers on the street. Earlier this week we get a bulletin that the entire staff must leave together and stay together on the way to the parking garage—which is at Gay and Baltimore, right where the main police precinct is.

Why?

Because there was a mob of black school students, in school uniforms, wearing book bags, shaking down white people, demanding that they hand over their purse, wallet and cell phone. You’ll never see this stuff on the news.

This has been since the riots. It was never like this before the riots. I don’t know why, but since the riots it seems like every young thug thinks he owns the city. And they’re not just black. Most of them are. But some of the women are junky white girls with dreadlocks or corn rows. There are also packs of young white dope fiends that have just appeared like magic, wandering around and demanding money. They will walk right up to us and say, “Give me money!” No asking at all.

Last week I was walking to my car—had a dentist appointment and was getting off early, like at one in the afternoon. Right there, across the street from the upscale men’s clothing store, there was this black thug and this white junky bitch with matted hair who looked like she hadn’t bathed in a week. She spots this older, well-dressed white woman and launches herself across Lombard Street through traffic like a missile, screaming, “Give me money, bitch! I know you have money! Give me fucking monaaayyy!”

The lady was confused. I wasn’t about to take on this hell-spawned junkie. The men just walked around, minding their own business—except for her pimp or drug dealer or whoever he was, who stood there and watched, like he was waiting for her to bring back something for him. The lady was paralyzed and then other junkies started coming around, like a zombie movie or something, crowding this lady.

White lady, surrounded by black and white junkies, being ignored by white people in suits who were just walking round making room and this big black man in a suit who worked at the clothing store ran across the street and scattered them, put his arm protectively around the older white lady and walked her to her wherever she was going. The crazy thing was, they didn’t exactly flee, they just gave ground because he was so big. I got the distinct impression that if he walked back inside they would have swarmed her. These fiends have eyes like starving beasts. It’s really scary and I’m sorry I can’t help the lady, but I’m a little female.

There are some perks to working in the City. My taillight has been out for three months and I still haven’t been pulled over. They used to get you right away for that. But my husband tells me that cops have bigger problems then taillights in the city now.

The craziest thing is that the squeegee kids are back. But these squeegee kids aren’t the hard working kids that my MomMom told me about, who would wash your windshield and hope for a quarter. They gather at the stop light in a pack with all of this cleaning equipment and clean your car—really roughly, without asking permission. Then, if you do not pay them some cash they start beating the shit out of your car—basically raping your car. I have had this happen to me twice and have gotten lucky with the light and sped off without catching any charges or getting my car ripped up. But I know people who have had their car trashed. I haven’t hit any of them. That’s the biggest fear, that they surround the car and you’ve got to use the car against them and one gets hurt. You know the shit will hit the fan then.

-Kelsey