How to Speak Korean

Growing up in New York was pretty tough, coming from a 17 year old in a gang. You gotta watch your back, because I guarantee someone will be there to stab it.

On a Wednesday afternoon, I had finished my day of school, strolling down the damp streets, puddles splashing under my black vans. A yellow mustang with a black double-stripe on the front pulled up next to me, two girls stumbling out. Getting a bit scared, I reached for my knife, which was snatched by a third girl. "Rita Huslen Hmm? Doesn't look as tough as everyone says." The third girl circled me and played with my knife. No, my dads knife. The second ripped my bookbag off, letting it fall in the mud. "What're you doing here?" she asked and snickered followed by a devilish grin. Trying to swallow the knot in my throat I spoke softly,"I'm heading back from school." I was terrified, but I won't pleasure them by letting them know that.

One had pushed me, but I quickly turned and shoved her in the street, and took off running.