Ok, so I decided to go pawn my Ipod for a little extra cash yesterday. I figured I'd get some extra money as all that drinking at AnthroCon wasn't gonna pay for itself. I go down there once and they say it has to have some music on it, the second time it has to have the exact name on my ID card and finally the third time the damn place is closed.

Exasperated and bored out of my mind I cross the street to try to catch the return bus when I am approached by a bald-headed black man in horn-rimed glasses and a blue vest. We'll call him "Chris" for obvious reasons explained later. We make small talk and I mention what I came down to do and he says that his girlfriend might buy it.

We go a couple houses down the road, already the bass cannons of the atrocious rap music are getting louder - as if some kind of dark omen for what was to happen later. - His lady friend won't buy because I don't have any earphones, I guess everyone is extra cautious about getting ripped off around here.

Chris says he knows another person further down the road and we go deeper into the ghetto, much against my common sense which I had to suppress to leave the main road out of view. We talk to about 4 different groups of people before we meet a pudgy looking guy with a short afro on a purple scooter. Also: I got called "white boy" about 4 times, twice by children.

We get a pair of head phones and sit at a bus stop and wait for scooter-guy to pull up and buy the Ipod, eventually he does and Chris explains that he was also going to get some weed too. I nervously say that it's ok as long as I get my 60 dollars. He assures me and they make the exchange and scooter-guy takes my Ipod and rides off.

Bewildered, I then ask Chris what is going on and he says that he "got the shit." He then shows me a small pile of about 3 crack rocks in his hand. Angrily I protest, just what the hell he thought he was doing and he replies sagaciously: "This is how we do it in da hood." Suddenly the immense stupidity of the whole situation dawns on me.

Chris explains that he is now going to trade the crack for actual money and then give me my share. Eventually we get to a house which supposedly was the home of an OG from the crips, Chris is beginning to seem more and more full of shit to me. Especially since he said that one of the groups we met before was a gang of bloods. I know that these two gangs don't usually share neighborhoods together.

As we get to the house, suddenly Chris bolts around a corner and starts running at what appears to be terminal velocity. Instinctively, I chase after him, but he is already across the yard and over a fence by the time I get to the corner. I stop though, unwillingly to bring myself to chase down this man...and do what? Take his (my) crack?

I was defeated.

Defeated by Chris the Crackhead.

This is what my life has become. A year ago I was headed off to college, now I'm chasing anonymous crackheads through the ghetto. I turn and walk back to the bus stop.

Just another white boy who got scammed by some cunning crackhead.

It was exciting though. I guess. I know somewhere my precious Ipod is being subjected to terrible corporate rap and hip-hop music. All alone out there. Even the scooter-guy said that I should have just went to a pawn-shop.

I know you must be thinking that I'm not very street smart.

I beg to differ, I must be Street-tarded. I guess sometimes common sense, or folk-wisdom should be heeded.