Awake, he stares at the ceiling. The ear-piercing sirens of police cars fly by, gunshots popping in the air, and heart-wrenching screams. Anyone in this town assumed the worst, it happened every night. His neighborhood always strewn across the news, somebody broke in, somebody got shot, somebody started a fight. He’s told, you better watch yourself, Fight for who you are. He’s crying. No matter where he is, nobody can get along. At school everyone is segregated, you stick with the people you know, and that’s it. If you’re nice, they think you’re taking pity on them, if you’re shouting down the hallway at them it gets silent. Fights break out daily; he just hopes he’s never taking part. Home’s no different. His Dad comes home, goes to fridge and pulls out a six-pack of Miller. He sits down in his chair. He yells, then gets up and beats mom. She didn’t do anything wrong, he just had a bad day at work.