He stared at me, hidden and protected by all the dropped heads looking at their phones in the crowd. He looked like an officer, but most white men do to me. He had a gun snuggling against his hip though. But he didn’t have a uniform on, just a faded shirt that said FBI: Female… Continue reading Black-handed
I’m not racist but, who was that lunatic? I should have thrown his hands behind his back and frisked him. But then people would accuse me of racial profiling. There’s been enough war between white cops and the black community. I didn’t want to deal with the heat I would receive for questioning this dangerous… Continue reading Undercover and Armed.