A man approaches me outside your house last night.
He knocks on my passenger window, asking for me to just crack the window so we could talk.
“I’m black. A man. Its night time. But don’t be afraid… I am a good guy…I know you’re white and I am black but please I need your help!”
I nervously fumble around to roll the window down a little.
My car is on and my foot is on the brake. I’m meeting my friend in five minutes.
“My car ran out of gas. It is parked in fornt of Margret’s house around the block–she is okay with that. My name is David. Do you have a gas can I can use? Please, I will give you my ID… i am a good guy.”
I don’t have a gas can, truly I don’t…sorry.
“You look good, are you going out tonight? Man, you are beautiful… do you have a boyfriend? I would surely hit on you if we were at a bar!”
Thanks but I can’t help you.
“Could you at least give me a ride?”
no. i can’t do that. sorry. I need to get going.
“Wait! Please, I have been out here for an hour. I’m a good guy. My address is 414 18th st apt 325 hasting, mn. Do you have cash to pay for a gas can?”
Again, I can’t help. I don’t have any cash on me. I got to go.
“alright. Have a good night, sweetie.”
**I have cleaned up the conversation quite a bit. There was a lot of stubling over words, sluring, and repeating going on. With a sent of alcohol in the air.
