The humiliating story of the little son of a bitch in DC

Washington, DC

 

It's cold as fuck in Washington, DC. Like really, really fucking cold. I jumped off the bus, grabbed my backpack and crossed Union Station, trying to control myself not to buy a ridiculously expensive slice of pizza. My stomach wouldn't stop roaring and this time I didn't mind going out for lunch, something cheap but already cooked. I hurried to get to the subway (a clean, spacious subway, the best I've seen so far, even though it's just as expensive), and in half an hour I was getting out in Columbia Heights.

 

As I was walking to the house I'd be staying at, I heard a sound behind me. I turned around and saw a little stone rolling a few meters from my feet. I kept walking and, seconds later, I heard it again, the sound of a small rock bouncing against the ground. I turned around for the second time and there it was, finishing its trajectory. I started to not like this. I looked around. No one. I looked up, to the windows. Maybe the asshole was throwing them from there - which, now I think about it, would make no sense. What was I thinking, that they had a bucket full of little stones ready to be thrown at me? (...) Anyway, it happened a couple of times more and I was half pissed, half intrigued. And suddenly I see, right in front of me, a small chubby South-American woman who shouts in Spanish: "It's that kid, he's throwing the little stones!", pointing at the opposite sidewalk. And among the cars I finally see him: an innocent-looking black little kid, maybe 10 years old at most, riding a scooter.

 

"Stop throwing stones already, dammit!", the woman shouts again, in Spanish. The kids makes a weird gesture. "I don't understand you!", he responds, in English. Well, you don't have to be a genius. "Don't throw stones at me!", and that's me shouting. He starts gesticulating as to tell me that he wasn't the one throwing the stones, I thank the lady and get on my way. But it happens again, and I finally decide to walk to the opposite sidewalk, because I don't think he'll dare to do it again if I'm so close to him. So I cross the street and look at him in the eye for a few seconds, but he turns around and starts knocking on a window, and then walks towards the contiguous door. I walk away immediately, fearing that some scary-looking cousin will come out and punch me in the face.

 

It's been a nice way to be introduced to the city.

 

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