You call an ambulance, stuttering out an explanation of the homeowner’s condition to the dispatcher, and flee down the elevator to the parking lot.
As you walk out, you hear the roar of an engine puttering to a stop. Jamal’s friends have arrived.
Their truck is a downright prehistoric model of Buick, completely dilapidated. The front bumper is hanging by a thread, the window is cracked, and the paint is covered in scratches. And yet, despite all reason, it continues to run.
The group yells out as they see Jamal approaching, waving their hands.
^WASSSUUUUPPPP BIG DOG!
<Yo yo yo!
-=<Yo dog whas good=-
A drop of sweat beads down your forehead and your fingers quiver. Despite your best attempts at being non-racist, you’re scared by these guys. You chastise yourself internally for your microaggression.
Uhm, Jamal… are these your um, gang?
His friends suddenly erupt into raucous laughter, hooting and hollering.
Jamal turns to you, filled with mirth. Your face flushes bright red and you look down in shame. This is your worst nightmare – to be mocked by heckin’ cool black guys. You just hope they’ll forgive you for being white.
sheit yeah nigga this my crew
He turns back to them and points to them in order of left to right.
thas my nigga Big Samson
^Thas rite!
And thas my main man Lil Doorknob
<No one realer!
And thas my nigga Low Life
-=<Ayo=-
shiet anyways we gotsa get going, you got a space fo’ my lil nigga over here?
He gesticulates towards you.
-=<Yeah we got a place in the back, no problem=-
Low Life smirks, pointing his thumb to the bed of the truck.
<Yeah, real comfy over here!
Lil Doorknob peers down at you, grinning from ear to ear.
You do a cartoonish gulp. You’ve never ridden in a truck bed before. Isn’t that… Illegal? And dangerous?
What do you do?
