Code 3 for a vehicle collision. In a nicer neighborhood.
PD points to a boy sitting on the curb, crying like a little bitch. Apparently this wiry teenager is drunk and hit a parked car, sending it down the block. No one’s hurt, thankfully. But I’m sure he’s sobering up really quick as the cops try to reach his parents over the phone.
They can’t get a hold of anyone, so at some point one cop is looking through his phone (a very new iPhone, by the way, which – call me judgmental – I’m sure he did not earn in any meaningful way) trying to get more information. He starts laughing.
“Look at this text he sent.”
“i’m vanilla thug nigga” [sic]
Call me old-fashioned – it saddens me greatly that everyone wants to be hip-hop and/or gangsta.