We went to see Metallica downtown this week. When it got out we went to the subway by M & T Bank, me and Scott, who used to box and is now this huge, bald, bearded guy. Another friend was with us, a tall thin guy.
We were sitting there eating and this short little black guy—maybe four-foot eleven—sat down at the next table and is staring at us. Then he says, “Man, them sandwiches sure look good.”
We ignore him.
Hey says, “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
We ignore him.
He says, “Hey, crackers, I’m talking to you.”
Now he homes in on Scott and says, “Hey, buy me a sub!”
Scott points to the counter and says, “It’s in there. Go get it.”
The guy then says, “No! I want you to buy it and bring it to me.”
Scott then took out his phone and pretended to call 911 and the guy left.
Downtown Baltimore is just ridiculous. We were three big men and this guy had no fear. There were hundreds of white guys around and he comes right in to make trouble. Downtown in Skunk Weed City is not the place to be after dark, or even during the day anymore.
Lately, driving in the city and taking people to and from work and events, I’ve seen a lot of smartphone thefts. Now that people are driving with their windows down and so many will sit in traffic and text or speak on their phone at the light, I’ve seen numerous big black guys on different occasions, at different places—basically all over the place—just reach into an open car window and snatch a smart phone from some dummy. There’s nothing they can do. Without their phone, they can’t call the cops—if the cops would even come. And for their part, the black guys get an unlocked phone that they can use, at least for a while, and then sell the battery for a couple bucks or fence the phone somehow.
The interesting aspect of this concert and the attendant promotion is that less than 10% of the concertgoers were Baltimore residents, virtually all of them being white rabbits who fled Baltimore City for communities as far away as the Pennsylvania state line. Uber Joe and Scott drove forty miles to attend this concert. Thus the event was, more than anything, an exercise in postmortem nostalgia. The runt in the Subway instinctively knew that all of these overfed and aging whites were terrified of his people.
If any readers know how stolen smart phones are disposed of or fenced, please leave a comment below and it will appear as a footnote in Last White Man in Baltimore, to be published in January, 2018.
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