He’s driving a little bit buzzed and fast because he believes he’s above the law.

Got his rocks off with a couple of prostitutes on 82nd and Sandy.

After, while driving home, blue and red lights behind him flashed.

His brown skin alone and that he’s also draped in gold make him immediately suspect.

“Roll down the window”, they shout. Get out of the car, and put your hands above your head. Put your hands behind your head. Spread your legs,” they shout, as they pat him down. Do you have a gun”?

Now, the confidence, the natural bravado drained from his brain and his body. “Yes, I was with a prostitute. Yes, I paid for sex, ” he offers, though they hadn’t asked that question, says he.

They shouted something about red lights and red lights, they keep repeating. His body  shakes. ICE is rounding up immigrants. And what he doesn’t know is that he’s part of a sting. Though he is a naturalized citizen, the news spreads fear… nevertheless.

He doesn’t know how lucky he is. He walked away only the worse for wear. The citation reads: solicitation for prostitution. Nothing about a red light.

He reads it confused and brings it to me. I explained: a class A misdemeanor, up to a year in jail and over a $6400 fine. There’s also a court date.

What he doesn’t know either is that some johns had their cars impounded and were jailed that night. He finds out from friends that his name is published online.

“How many more stupid things are you going to do that I have to help you with,” i hiss through my teeth, over a bowl of phò.

Find a high-powered lawyer. $8500 retainer. Attend classes. Go to court. Maybe go to jail.

Enough money, and his god will help him, he believes. “God did this,” he relentlessly reiterates.

On the stand, he’ll perjer himself. He lies. A big liar. The lawyer will try to keep him off the stand.

Through all of his other petty crimes, he has never had to suffer the consequences. “God helps me,” he says, and he really believes it. I sigh and say, “Money talks.” He doesn’t believe me. He never does.