“What I’m going to do?” Qadira asked, leaning forward. Brice watched her palms squished when she pressed her fingers into them. “PP's not happy I saw his gang member killed somebody. He did it to protect his rep and turf.”
Brice reached over to rub her back, but made a fist instead. "Don't be afraid of them. Your classmate or you are not at war with Tattle Tale."
“He’s got a lot of crew members to come after me.”
“Calm down.” Brice said, gripping the steering wheel. Pee head couldn’t run the neighborhood without putting fear into his students. If he had no guns, he'd be another rotten kid. "Which side you on Qadira?"
“I’m a potential causalities, all kids are," Qadira said. "You don't join a gang and sell drugs. You're a target."
Brice passed Alex’s liquor store that displayed a large poster of Colt 45. The neighborhood store owners promoted liquor, anything addicted to forget what was going on around here. After another few blocks, he passed the Catholic Church. The church’s sign that listed worship time faded to a yellowish color inside the brick display case.
The majority of parishioners left the area moving to safer places. Most of Brice working former neighbors took their money to invest where a community would grow with pride. His current neighbors had laid off slips looming over their heads from the auto makers, the main industry holding all the jobs cards. They exemplified little concerned about the up keep of property or value of it, since they expected to head to the poorhouse after the receipt of lay slips.
His neighbors gave up the fight to keep the area clean. Their built up feelings of betrayal by employers they work for 10 to 15 years of service had them rebelling. They became reluctant to learn a new trade believing they would be rewarded with more lay off slips. His community struggled with self-worth.
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