“Laughn, baby, which one is yours?” I point the stick to the cars. All five guys hang over the side of the fence, looking down at me. While I am raising the stick towards the blue car, someone yells, “The green one!” “This yours?” I ask, stepping towards the green car. He looks at me, his cigarette hanging from his lips. “This is for holding me down.” My first swing takes out a side mirror, and I don’t bother looking back. “And this,” I yell, “is for touching me without my permission.” I strike, taking out one of the front headlights. Someone screams in a high-pitched girly way. I look over my
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