Yesterday I found myself tooling about Da Hood. I mean Da Hood, y’all. As in, please don’t ever make me go there except in daylight.

 

For most of my hood drive, I was behind a thug-mobile covered in stickers proclaiming love for various types of guns. As in, “I Love My Gat.” And “I Love My Nine.” The kid driving couldn’t have been more than about 20 and he should’ve scared the pee out of me.

 

But he didn’t. I’m not sure why, but I kept seeing his eyes in his rear-view and I couldn’t help thinking he was posing. Now I wouldn’t have challenged that kid – on any subject – for nothing. But I wasn’t afraid. Of him. His bumper stickers freaked me out, but not him.

 

As I made my way through Da Hood, I successfully avoided some sort of major ruckus involving multiple police officers. It must’ve been something, as others were standing on the tops of their cars and taking pictures with their phones. I didn’t see any of it, as I was just trying to circumvent the entire scene. I succeeded.

 

At some point, I spotted the flag in the above photo. It was gi-normous, I tell you. Upon first seeing it, I couldn’t help thinking how if it fell on me, I’d be a goner. But it didn’t fall. It just waved in the wind and billowed on the breeze. It’s one of the biggest flags I’ve seen around L.A. Maybe they’re just more patriotic in Da Hood. Go figure.

 

And if they’re not more patriotic, well, there’s at least one kid there who loves his guns more than Ted Nugent ever will. Nothing says “America” like…

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