I am now separate from Alex. He says something about how safely we crashed. We pass by the enormous river of darkness. Some very poor-looking kids are playing on the banks of a shadowy river. Alex and I just sort of stand there for a second. Then we talk about how we have to do this group project with Paul, the other member of the group. Paul apparently lives in the paperclip neighborhood. Alex then says he's assigned to the "Reeves Park" segment of the project. He then takes off his beanie to reveal colorful green beanie that says Reeves Park on it, sure enough. He tells me that I'm supposed to go to Paul's house; that's my segment. Still, me and Alex both go to Paul's house.
Paul's house is essentially my friend John's house. It is now nighttime, and we walk up to the home. Without knocking, we walk right in and it's utter chaos in Paul's home. There are gangsters, druggies, children, and big scary men just sort of mulling about. Me and Alex are quite frightened. It's also very smoky and there are bright lights hanging from the ceiling. As we gather around this very small wooden table in the center of the large room, we notice a very large man with a tank top on. He's got tattoos and oven mitts on, and he's carrying a big pot. Alex says to me, "That's Paul's grandmom", in a hushed voice. He might have been wearing a hairnet, I'm not sure. Either way, we sort of introduce ourselves and Mr. Grandmom shakes our hands. It's the worst handshake in the world. I'm not even sure he touched my hand. Anyways, we sit down and ready ourselves for dinner, and Paul is around the table but we don't talk to him. Once again, it's a very small wooden table. The ceiling light is just a light-bulb, and it casts light over the table. The table is right next to large window that is purely black - it is nighttime. It looks over the river.
The pot of some sort of food is in the middle of the small table. We have paper plates. As we're about to eat, an unspeakably loud and sharp bang shakes us to our bones. It came from right outside the window, and we immediately know it to be a gunshot. We knew that we were in the ghetto, so we sort of expected it. The other people in the room are nonchalant. I'm under the table. My arms are spread out in front of me on the carpet, but I move them hastily as Mr. Grandmom stomps on by. He goes to the door next to the window and whips it open. He yells things at the shooter like, "OH YEAH WE NEED MORE OF THAT. THAT'S WE NEED, IS MORE GUN SHOOTING AND VIOLENCE. WE NEED MORE DEAD BABIES AND DEATH IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD". He calls the police and has a very odd conversation with a policeman. "Yes, I know, and I'm sure you're a good man" - "Yeah, you know, I'm just trying to survive out here" - "Haha, yep. Just gas money and my two daughters".
I realize he has two toddler daughters in cribs in the corner of the room. Some strange teenager with long hair seems to sign to us (he's deaf) that it is okay to eat and that we are safe. We all get back to the table and prepare to eat dinner. Big man Grandmom takes the pot and begins scooping glazed chicken tenders onto our plates. Except my plate is now a stack of two dark blue coffee mugs. I clumsily move the top one away so he can put some chicken tenders into my bottom mug. He says to us, "Now, you boys are gonna say that this is the best chicken you've ever had; that's what you're gonna say, alright?"
THE END
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