“Check on your people.”
And that’s not wrong, no,
that’s a “hey, thanks man, really, because—“
Because you never know which of the people you share this earth and your love with that some other guy who had a bad day, or who sees someone who doesn’t look like them and doesn’t register them as a person with a life and love they share and carry,
and just snuffs that sh— right out,
not even a “how do you do,” or a “thank you very much..”
You see the goofy grin of the woman behind the counter at the gritty old “ADULT NOVELTY SHOP”
and think “Ayeee, that’s good people!—“
And some cop sitting at Auto Zone watching her with his lights out because he got called out for watching her with them BEAMING thinks, “hey, there’s that ALMOST white people,” or “hey, there’s that girl who reminds me girls don’t like me and it’s all their fault and not mine cause they aren’t flattered by being harassed taking the trash out at work,”
or just a “hey, i had a bad day and i didn’t get to remind this person i could shoot them and get away with it because of a blue stripe, lol.”
Because all it takes for some white dude with a bad mustache and a worse hairline playing bad cop in a not-quite closed plaza on West Avenue who barks orders just a little too loud and pretends you ain’t speaking clear to remind you he can shoot you and it won’t even sound that bad,
after all, your store isn’t a legitimate enough business because his mom told him not to stare driving by as a kid,
or some crap like that, who knows,
because you’re too busy watching him go for his gun like he’s playing a game of how fast can I make it sound like—
but hey now, that’s speculation, and your ID he took is over his body cam, for some reason, but you’re pretty sure pointing that out is gonna be the equivalent of pulling a trigger, so let’s get back to reality—
but that is reality. that was reality.
Some guy went to the police academy with a prejudice problem or some virtue issue or just a little too much of that Tate guy on a podcast and now a whole life is hanging in the balance and he just wants an excuse, any excuse, and then you’re a god-knows-what they’ll say to make “unarmed 5’3 hard of seeing chick” into something people will equate to as easy to dispose of as my trash should have been, if I didn’t hit some guy with red and blue lights hate sensor by breathing outside the door.
So yeah, check on your people, because somebody would probably check em out of their remaining lifespan for the shape of their eyes or whatever it was this time—
But hey, if you can, maybe somebody should check THOSE people,
maybe if that guy or any of those that-guys is your cousin, or your sisters ex boyfriend,
maybe if you’re just a little bit more of a person with rights to them for whatever reason they choose to draw their blue line and pretend the red streaks across the ground are evidence the next person they put down like a dog in the street equates to such in value—
you could check em.
“hey man, I think it’s really fu—d up that your trigger finger is so itchy for anyone whose name starts with letters B through—“
and if I’m not here to check on someday—
yeah, take that sh— personal.
because it was. because it is.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 11:56 PM UTC
“Check on your people.”
And that’s not wrong, no,
that’s a “hey, thanks man, really, because—“
Because you never know which of the people you share this earth and your love with that some other guy who had a bad day, or who sees someone who doesn’t look like them and doesn’t register them as a person with a life and love they share and carry,
and just snuffs that sh— right out,
not even a “how do you do,” or a “thank you very much..”
You see the goofy grin of the woman behind the counter at the gritty old “ADULT NOVELTY SHOP”
and think “Ayeee, that’s good people!—“
And some cop sitting at Auto Zone watching her with his lights out because he got called out for watching her with them BEAMING thinks, “hey, there’s that ALMOST white people,” or “hey, there’s that girl who reminds me girls don’t like me and it’s all their fault and not mine cause they aren’t flattered by being harassed taking the trash out at work,”
or just a “hey, i had a bad day and i didn’t get to remind this person i could shoot them and get away with it because of a blue stripe, lol.”
Because all it takes for some white dude with a bad mustache and a worse hairline playing bad cop in a not-quite closed plaza on West Avenue who barks orders just a little too loud and pretends you ain’t speaking clear to remind you he can shoot you and it won’t even sound that bad,
after all, your store isn’t a legitimate enough business because his mom told him not to stare driving by as a kid,
or some crap like that, who knows,
because you’re too busy watching him go for his gun like he’s playing a game of how fast can I make it sound like—
but hey now, that’s speculation, and your ID he took is over his body cam, for some reason, but you’re pretty sure pointing that out is gonna be the equivalent of pulling a trigger, so let’s get back to reality—
but that is reality. that was reality.
Some guy went to the police academy with a prejudice problem or some virtue issue or just a little too much of that Tate guy on a podcast and now a whole life is hanging in the balance and he just wants an excuse, any excuse, and then you’re a god-knows-what they’ll say to make “unarmed 5’3 hard of seeing chick” into something people will equate to as easy to dispose of as my trash should have been, if I didn’t hit some guy with red and blue lights hate sensor by breathing outside the door.
So yeah, check on your people, because somebody would probably check em out of their remaining lifespan for the shape of their eyes or whatever it was this time—
But hey, if you can, maybe somebody should check THOSE people,
maybe if that guy or any of those that-guys is your cousin, or your sisters ex boyfriend,
maybe if you’re just a little bit more of a person with rights to them for whatever reason they choose to draw their blue line and pretend the red streaks across the ground are evidence the next person they put down like a dog in the street equates to such in value—
you could check em.
“hey man, I think it’s really fu—d up that your trigger finger is so itchy for anyone whose name starts with letters B through—“
and if I’m not here to check on someday—
yeah, take that sh— personal.
because it was. because it is.
10 years later and I happen to hop onto the email I made this account with, and here I am. being harassed by a cop while trying to throw out the store trash in the store dumpster after closing up for the night at work.
