Usually we turn left on Denison

Usually we turn left on Denison, Billed pulled over to the right, I knew he was short. I knew he was short the whole way down Edmonson. Burnin’ ‘em in Chadwick’s one thing, we never go down there. But Denison, we’re here everyday!

Same blue pick up same to white dudes. Us! It’s not like in any other car they can miss us anyway. I weigh 250 and rock a purple Mohawk. Not even a hats gonna help me out. Does he really think 4 lanes to the right is a whole ‘nother world?
“Your door locked?” Bills only verbal warning.
“Ya”
“2 for 15” he says across me, out the passenger window, to the middle aged junky serving rocks on Dennison this fine sunny Tuesday summer afternoon.

They exchange cash for product. As the junky we just burned figures out its only six bucks we lurch forward to make our escape. 20 feet and we’ve pulled a bit from the corner to be stuck in rush hour traffic. My locked door opens as the middle aged black man tries to get his rocks back.

Our car is still not moving,

I grab my door back and hit this guy with it, as the light ahead turns green and we begin our descent further down Edmonson Avenue. Just as fast the man grabs a gas can from the back of our truck and throws it at us, it hits the cab of the truck and falls away. The boys on the corner either aren’t with him or could give a fuck less about the loss, amused by the quarrel but unwilling to risk a scene in rush hour over 9 dollars, or they figure the old junky has to come up with his end either way. It doesn’t matter to us as we round the corner deeper into west Baltimore to make a get away. A block and a half down the road and we know we’re free, free enough to pull over, stand around, shoot the shit and never cross the path of the hoppers we fucked over.