Los Angeles, Long Beach.
Martin Hart swore to the heavens that in all his twenty-five years, every single day combined didn't match the strangeness of today.
The African Americans on the West Coast weren't exactly hospitable to their own people. It was his first day in Long Beach, and he was first surrounded by four damn gangsters demanding he take off his new sneakers. Before he could comply, a Cadillac luxury sedan drove up, and two white men stepped out: one was a muscular man looking like a white rhinoceros and the other had a wooden expression as if he suffered from facial paralysis.
After that, he saw the four black thugs who had just menacingly wanted to steal his shoes. Their first reaction was not to mug the two white men who entered their community uninvited, but upon seeing their faces, they simply knelt down, holding their hands high over their heads.
