I suppose that I could reign in the indiscriminate use of slang. It may leave those less familiar with the cultural references and contexts within the vernacular feeling more than a bit uncomfortable. Which could be a grounds for the action taken against me, I suppose.
Perhaps it would serve me better to buy clothes deemed fitting of a young man with career aspirations. In this world, apparently clothes set the tone, and I’d hate to make anyone feel the least bit of trepidation on account of what I’m wearing. Especially if we’re near one another regardless of whether or not it’s on public property like a busy sidewalk or even standing in line at Chik-Fil-A Because that could also be an argument for the grim events that follow.
I should always regulate the speed at which I’m driving. I understand that people not like myself are afforded the misstep of going over the speed limit or are even given a ticket for such a transgression. I just don’t have the luxury to assume that every instance will result in a fine or inconvenient court date. I have to monitor the speedometer every second that I’m in my car because that could be the makings of an excuse as well.
Wait, did I forget to mention my hair? I’m sure I did. To be honest, I’m more than long overdue for a haircut anyways. It’s getting to become a bit too indicative of not only my ethnicity but some perceived objection to assimilation. As if I’ve turned my hair into a statement piece instead of some stylized collection of fibers. Maybe others would use their hair as a mechanism of expressing both individual and cultural identity but, as stated above, I can’t. I really can’t. Although I wouldn’t have thought it to be true, this could be another basis for justification.
Another reason for me to be shot dead and robbed of everything I was going to be. For myself and something (or someone) else.
I’ve been ripping my mind apart at the seams because it’s becoming more and more apparent that I could die at any time. Not in the existentialist sense in that we all will, inevitably, leave this mortal coil.
I could die at a traffic stop.
I could die in police custody.
I could obey the law to the letter and still be gunned down in front of my children and spouse by an agent of the state.
I could die after CALLING the police to help me.
So I’m writing down a list of reasons to avoid that happening. An assortment of scenarios that, god willing, will leave me still able to draw breath.I believe it is imperative I do this because ‘reasons’ imply that there is some sort of rationale. Some kind of logistical pathway that these tragic situations take, and I need that. I need to know that I can escape what seems to be a narrowing metric of probability that my next encounter with law enforcement will be the day I die.
I don’t want to die.
Please let this help me not die.
Originally published at fukette.com.