Scott, Heartside

when I was 12 years old me and a friend from middle school were smoking a joint in a par. This day like any other was sunny and warm typical of San Diego weather. The bench we were sitting at was inscribed with the usual obligatory graffiti, ie: Swastikas, hearts and the usual "I" was here monikers. i glanced over at Jamin, my best friend at the time and there was a look of terror on his face. Before I could inquire what he was worried about he shot off faster than a gazelle in Africa. I heard laughter behind me, the kind of laughter you would expect to hear in a prison rape scene. Before I could turn around to see my would be prison lovers a world war II era Hitler youth knife was stabbed directly next to my hand. i looked up to see two rather large bald white men smiling as if they had just caught the big one  "Are you proud of your skin nigger?", the smaller of the two asked. i had never been asked such a question. "I guess so?", was all my shaky body could muster.