I saw the young Belieber from upstairs, late last night, in an alley way 3 blocks from home.
She was standing next to an early 1980’s Pontiac Trans Am, metallic red, 15″ wheels, no plates.
I saw a hand reach out from the interior of the car and she handed over something, then with the other hand, receive a small packet.
Along side those sick fucks; paedophiles, there is nothing I hate more than drug dealers, specially in my neck of the woods. So I shouted – HEY!!!
I saw the Belieber hesitate and look in my direction, but she put the packet into her back pants pocket and walk away down the alley. At the same time, the Trans Am’s passenger door opened and a leg appeared.
To be honest, I expected a squeal of tyres, red brake lights and the smell of exhaust fumes as the pusher made good his escape. Instead, I was about to be confronted. This was not how it “goes down” on NYPD Blues.
So I did what any concerned citizen would do: I ran as fast as my brown John Lobb’s could carry my concerned citizen’s feet.
A block away I heard a shout.
– Hey, fucker! You run like a girl.
I may run like a girl, asshole, but at least you couldn’t catch me.