False Flag.

I was driving up North St, on my way to make a pick-up when a skinny black kid in a dark, puffy, winter coat tried to wave me down. He couldn't have been much older than thirteen. I slowed to about twenty but motioned that I had to continue on my current course.

"Sorry," I lipped, before he lost his straight face and wide, desperate eyes. He laughed with the five or six girls of various sizes standing around him. He never really needed a cab, but I wasn't really sorry.