My intestines are in the world's tightest balloon animal. Though it didn't phase me when it happens, the old white man pointing at me sticks in my mind. I didn't do anything but exist. I was just on my way to work, like my cousin was when some guys ran up on him, took his money, and shot him dead. Of course, if anything happens to me, it would be more widely publicized. I would be on T-shirts worldwide. Al Sharpton would speak at my funeral. The old man would spend his last few weeks free since nothing would happen to him no matter what he did to me. Nonetheless, if my parents don't offer to take me to work, I will be on that same path, diligently watching my back as I trek the half-mile to my job. My peaceful walk that usually helps me relax and gather my wandering thoughts will be tinged with fear and anxiety. But, it will all worth it to get my $200 paycheck tomorrow.