2-Guns white Caddy

While pumping gas at 711 last night, a white Cadillac squeals up to the negro using the pump opposite mine, and a man leaning out of the passenger side window shouts, “Freeze, mother-effer!”
The first man immediately rushes over to him, saying, “Ha ha! I heard you was out!”
“Sh*t!”
“And a little sooner, huh?” He laughs in a nudge-nudge sort of way.
“Hell, they ain’t keepin’ me! Effin’ nobody.”
“’Cept Nella, sucker.” He indicates the rather haggard and entirely oblivious woman driving the car, slapping his new friend on the shoulder and laughing all the harder.
“Sh*t. That’s my ride, b*tch.” They laugh together, as if this is the funniest thing in the world.
“What in’e hell you doin’?”
“Sh*t. Lookin’ for the hook up, dawg.”
“Oh yeah?”
The man from the car notices me, and without pause queries, “What in’e hell’re you lookin’ at, Kneecaps?”


I feel like I missed a grand opportunity here to come up with a witty and suitable response. In my defense, I have to say that half my brain was busy contemplating why he just called me Kneecaps, and the other half of my brain was plotting an appropriate escape route and deciding if I had the spare time required to screw my gas cap back on. There were no neurons left to come up with an appropriate retort.

I've since decided it would have been best to have just shouted "I'LL CUT YOU!" and run.

But I believe what I actually said was something like, "Nothin'..." Then I quietly replaced the gas pump, got into my car and calmly drove away at roughly 95 MPH.