Chapter Two - "Admitted"

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Black and Yellow--yes, like that song from another rap artist--that's the color of the giant sign I missed.

It's a giant sign combined with the two colors known in the rap world, and now known to me more than before because of the Black Cats Jaguar playlist: black and yellow. The sign itself, apart from the color that borders and fills it, is centered and decorated with a black cat right in the middle. The figure of the cat is in a stance mode. Its hind and front legs are fully up, as it has its back turned towards observers, with only its head turning back to give off one last glance. Perhaps, the last glance that should have told me, and is probably there to tell others, of the dangers that can await them if they do so dare to enter. 

The odd thing is that "cats" in the name is spelled with a "z". Almost like it's done for a purpose; like, other things, it's there for a reason, a bigger, bolder reason than the one that comes off with a first stare.

My stare notices something else, though: the car behind us parks first.

Then Oso drives around the back of the bar.

The bar is located right on a corner of the street.

On the other side of the wall, on the one I'm in right now, the buildings don't rise like they do on the side that my grandmother is currently at--thinking and drinking her tea because she's pleasantly convinced my uncle is free of stress (oh, how much she doesn't know)--which means the plain view makes everything visible with merely a few feet of height. And this bar had two extra feet than any other building within a five mile radius, lunging itself over the neighboring rooftops to tower the skies, and to make our sight and vision a bit better, for those whom may come for us; not now, but soon.

This is it. No more driving.

I know we've reached our destination when the music stops. Then I see Oso twist the key in the ignition, shutting off the engine.

"Come on," he says, waving his men down. "You get the mess from the back," he then says to the man on the passenger seat.

I didn't know if he meant the beer or the body. What exactly does he want us to get?

The men get outside of the car, carrying the man I ended, and one of them stays by my side, waiting for me to close the door, or to not run away. I suspect it's the later of the choices.

"Come on," he says, annoyed at my time wasting.

I don't know what awaits for me inside, so I try not to hurry it. I pick up my feet slowly, keeping my eyes at the giant yellow sign -- not because I want to look at the sign, but because I'd rather look at the sign than look at this man's eyes.

I finally get down. When my shoes touch the gravel of the parking lot, the sole slips and I wrestle to keep my feet steady. Although, I think it's more my nerves that are making my feet tremble than the gravel on the ground.

We're all alike -- the men and I. We wear the same colored skin. And we probably share the same historical grounds. I wouldn't doubt being born in the same geographical location as these boys. But right now, in this moment, with this situation, with me having murdered one of their own, we are nothing alike, and we are not at the same power scale I used to live with on the other side of the wall.

I guess the feeling of not being free hits me once I take my first walk towards the bar, once I'm away from the crowd and can now feel the air freely, as a free person would, but instead, with these men behind me, guiding me, I feel it -- I feel how unfree I am.

I can't mind any of this going on in my head. I can't let it affect me right now. So I continue to walk forward.

Oso leads the way.

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