Being the thrifty-liver that I am, I generally dig my heels in when it comes to paying SEPTA's rediculous fees for transportation. Literally that is. I dig my heels in, grind my toes and hoof it to wherever it is I need to go. This miniature form of protest was easier before my bike wheel was stolen, but even in the face of this unfortunate incident- which has since been resolved- I still chose to walk to and from work at The Philadelphia Inquirer.
Generally, I walk home along Broad Street, seeing as it is between 10 and 11 at night. Sometimes (*cough*all the time), I'm too lazy and forgetful and leave through the back door and then end up taking 15th Street- only one block off, but in North Philly, you'd be surprised at the difference this makes.
I never had an incident (knock on wood, since tonight is my last night there), however on one memorable night as I neared 15th and Poplar I saw a gaggle of young teen girls ruling the road and headed my way. As we neared the moment of truth, I braced myself. I know enough about gangs of ghetto girls to know that they could not let me pass without at least comment. One skinny, baby momma in training (literally...maybe) broke off from the group and approached.
"Can I have a dollar?" she said.
"No, sorry, I don't have one." I said.
"Well, can I have a cigarette?"
"Nope."
Tick. Tick. Tick. Step. Step. Step. The space between grew as I walked on, holding my breath.
Then, once they felt they were a safe distance away, they exploded.
"You can't give her a dollar?!?!?" "She really need it, she pregnant!?!"--hence why she really needs a cigarette, see previous "baby momma" statement.
And, a few beats later, the comment I will never forget:
"I hate to tell you white girl, but you aint got shit on Pippi Longstocking!"
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