Drew, whom is still one of my favorite SF bloggers, had a net-level run-in with some strangers outside his apartment:
…so as I continue to walk up the stairs, the guy and his friend are walking awfully close to me. Don’t get me wrong, I like to hold hands with strangers and even get freaked from behind by them like at the Prom during slow jamz (the use of the letter “z” in the word “jamz” should be mandatory). But it felt a little weird. So I do the awkward scared white guy thing and just walk a little faster while also thinking in my head about how they teach girls to carry their keys in between their knuckles as a weapon in case of rape. I’m not sure that’s an “awkward white guy” thing as much as it’s a “really? you thought of how to not get raped?” thing.
So as I’m walking up to my apartment, I just casually walk in to my place and go to get a glass of water. And at this moment, I realize that one of the guys is in my kitchen. And at this moment, I realized I was their drug dealer.
Previously on Mission Mission:
