Is this true?

The street was eerily quiet. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the guy standing across from the bar just standing there. Looking across the street. Peeking around the corner. Watching as the Yeminese closed their shop of wares. Watching as the little Yemeni DEVIL was playing like a true 5 year old and not as the evil little bastard cursing at women in Arabic and today pointing a cane at a man like a gun who’d gone missing a few weeks ago and I was sure that if anyone had stolen him- he’d be back in a few hours probably with some extra cash in his pocket.
But I couldn’t shake the guy across the street. He couldn’t know that I’m the bar’s protector. He would never think that the little brown girl who barely made it through her conditioning class tonight and seemed to be encased in a warm casing of creamy caramel was the one who would murk him out if he tried anything here. I’d just kicked a man in the chest of Friday and I was fully feeling my oats.

But the neighborhood’s changing so much. Any white man can stand on the corner- black men’s corners- and not get noticed. He looked like a rent boy to me. Did he even know what neighborhood he was in?

And then he came into the bar. I was wishing I’d eaten more today cause the two glasses of wine (and maybe the pot I’d smoked a little earlier) were making me a little woozy. I’d only had a few cigs in my pocket and the last one I smoked while talking to my little sister on the cell phone. It did give me the perfect diversion though, since I’d already been staring him down from the bar and when I came out for my first one.
Somewhere between my 1st and 2nd cig he’d moved across the street to sit in the doorway of the store. Looking at his cell phone. I had to know what was up. I had to know if I could go to my apartment and fall into the deep coma like sleep I so desired. But no, I had to wait. Of course I had to wait cause I’m lazy.

There were only a few of us left in the bar. We were actually laughing when the door stormed open and in walks this guy.