Two men in tracksuits stares in athe rockiest manner as their heated, unkind eyes glaringe, as the one on the left winth his white pale face and smouldering anger, liftings his hands to the side. In Pittsburgh, for the last few years, a war has been raging like of two animals facing each other, with a monstrous and fiercest sunk from the curling government. The two gangs of the condiments, races of the white and the black, and the souls lost like the wanderers of the unnatural ablation of crashes. The mulling of the dead bodies have lumpinged on the very streets for least thle last twenty years, and the drains ofing grief of the victim’s parents, and friends had alluring fates.

“Look boy, you have been asked to keep your nose out of my business and when you partake the noise, of which erupted like gun fire, which is where we find ourselves in. You know what's going to happen next, don't you?” He asks without the calmness of a cold steel, harden gentlemen who has, by the past experiences of killing with no mercy reaching his eyes. “Get down on your knees, boy.”

“No can do, white boy,” the black guy grins a white less smile.