Anti abandons the internet.

there was morning dew drenching my car, and the monring air was misty. but as was typical in los angeles california, the morning mist would be burned away by the blazing desert sun. and i'll be avoiding the smog by breathing in my tobacco smoke. one poison in place of another.

along the side streets of the freeway are sky scraping palm trees, reaching and swaying infinitely into the pale blue atmosphere. The tops of the trees are nice to look at, giving a false insight to what lies at ground level. gang wars, strip malls, litter, and homeless are strewn about as if they were fodder in a ticker-tate parade. some streets are so violent and unwelcoming, that i wouldn't walk the street in daylight, wearing a bullet proof vest, and with a police escort. it's true. but if you mind your own business, and go about your errands. it's not likely you will be bothered, not unless you stare too much.

whenever i see another white person, they notice me as well. our eyes lock for a moment as if asking ourselves, "hey, is that dude lost or WHAT?" it's a known fact that the white man prefers the safety of out laying towns and suburbs, where the police where trained to pull over any shitty car with rims. racial profiling.

for example, if you are a black dude headed to manhattan beach, and you are driving a 1985 Buik Riviera... you better hope you dont make it west of the 405 freeway. and SHIT, if you get as close as highland avenue, you're REALLY in trouble. i think that's when they smash out your tail lights with a club and pop you for every bullshit ticket in the book.

as i rolled east bound on florence avenue, with my car windows down, and my music loud, i leaned back in my ride... keeping one straight arm on the steering wheel, and one bent arm holding my cigarette.

welcome to cali.