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2006-09-14 - 3:27 p.m. At half-past-midnight, there's a boy sitting on the hood of his car in a certain area of Denver, looking like he wants to fight. It's a Wednesday night, and for some reason Wednesday nights just lend themselves to driving to Denver. He's thinking that he's not the kind of guy who will go up to an attractive woman and say 'I'm sorry, this porch is non-smoking only.' He picked this certain area of Denver because a girl told him that this was the most dangerous of areas in Denver. Supposedly this is where people get capped in broad daylight. So naturally this fucking kid, with the only real problem in his life being boredom, and a fear that he's not doing enough to make his life worthwhile. This fucking kid takes that girl's advice and turns it around. He's thinking that he's the kind of guy who will go up to an attractive woman and say 'I'm sorry, this porch is only for ugly girls. You're much too cute to be here.' Stay away from this section of Denver. Stick to the safe streets. Drive your car home following the streets that have lamps that still work. Tuck yourself in, and dream a pleasant dream about how you'll live to be ninety-years-old and will have never gone to the dangerous sections of life. Stay the fuck away if you value your boredom. He leaves that girls house at midnight and drives straight to this place she warned him about, parks his car, gets out, and sits on his hood. Waiting. The trouble with psychology is that you understand that, even with a pack mentality, it is only the weak that get preyed on. You can't sit on the hood of your car looking like you want a fight and get one. You have to look like you're scared to be there. You have to look like the wounded gazelle, the one cut off from the herd, the one who can't defend yourself. Otherwise they won't fuck with you. The problem with this boy is that he can't help it.

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