Frankie is seven years old.
He is in a department store with his uncle Andre.
Andre is a big dude.
He looks mean.
Little Frankie, looked very small and well, cute, next to Frankie.
They are in the automotive section looking at parts.
Andrew is looking for new wrenches.
A white male store manager keeps looking at them.
He is bald and ugly.
His shirt is tucked in; his pants are pulled up to his belly button.
He follows them around the store.
Andre gets angrier and angrier.
Andrew turns quickly, looks at the white male store manager.
The clerk looks away.
Andrew walks up him.
Andre says, “Do you want to pat me down mother fucker?”
The man says, “What are you talking about sir?”
He said, “I said, you wanna pat me down mother fucker?”
“Sir you better leave the store.”
Andre looks around, “I notice you’re store got like ten employees in it.”
“I don’t see one black person.”
“No blacks applied.”
“This area is 40 percent blacks, and you’re telling me no blacks applied.”
“No, none did.”
“You know, I bet you one of those mother fuckers that say, ‘black people are all on well fare.’ But mother fucker if you don’t give black people jobs how are we going to get off well fare and have money to stop stealing shit? You blame us for shit that is your fucking fault.”
“Listen, I know about you people. You steal. So get out of my store!”
Andre hits the white man.
Andre’s huge fist shatters his jaw. There is a crunching sound.
Frankie stands there paralyzed.
The white man hits the ground.
Andre kicks his face and stomps on his ribs.
There are more cracking and crunching type sounds.
Five white employees rush over.
Andrew punches them.
They can’t take him down.
Security runs over, he hits him too.
They mace him eventually.
It took ten white people total to get Andre to give up.
Frankie watched all of it.