Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.
Last summer, in London at least, the hoodie was transformed from a benign piece of leisurewear into a uniform for the disaffected, the angry, the malevolent. So much so that __oodie_ was no longer a piece of clothing. It was a whole person. A hoodie was somebody likely to steal, plunder and do you unimaginable harm.People were crossing the street when a hoodie crossed their path - even if it was a 70-year-old gentleman walking his dog. That__ how quickly the fear had permeated the collective consciousness. And lifting the hood was tantamount to cocking a gun.
RIOT MURDER - Myles Morgan Undercover #2
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Last summer, in London at least, the hoodie was transformed from a benign piece of leisurewear into a uniform for the disaffected, the angry, the malevolent. So much so that __oodie_ was no longer a piece of clothing. It was a whole person. A hoodie was somebody likely to steal, plunder and do you unimaginable harm.People were crossing the street when a hoodie crossed their path - even if it was a 70-year-old gentleman walking his dog. That__ how quickly the fear had permeated the collective consciousness. And lifting the hood was tantamount to cocking a gun.
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