My Friend

Have you ever wondered why your best friend is actually your best friend? Because you know their life. Or because you want to go out with them. My best friend is as unique as they are coming. For the past eight years I have been paying attention to and respecting his way of living. My friend 's name is Micline. Mike and I met in the sixth grade. He stood up right away and told me. Some of him drew my attention. His brown hair was as short as if left from the bed, wearing a yellow Nautica 's T - shirt, staring at you as if watching the sun directly.

All my friends at school are from Howard elementary school. In other words, all my friends are black. In the new caste system of Darby Junior High, my friend is immediately infiltrating down with other black children. They are troublemakers, cheaters, pursuers, idiots and thugs. To be very clear, I am not saying that all black children or all my friends are at the bottom or in these ways.

Was my friend radicalized? When is it necessary to call the FBI to call a friend? Yesterday I met a friend of Walmart. I shouted as "friends, friends", my friend turned around. There is a semi - automatic rifle of Bushmaster in the hands of my friend. My friend's face is full of smiles. My friend looks like amyl nitrate in the afternoon. My friend smiled, it looks too warm, his eyes are swollen, his face is pale, his face is pale.

Six days after she returned, my friend's father shoot himself and killed himself. My brothers broke up and killed an accident. My friend's father caused a heart attack. My friend 's mother died of cancer. Before the last one finished his life my neighbor did two moves. One morning my father's father lost his life after sending my son to school. My girlfriend's grandmother was killed by her daughter. After cancer ruined him, my uncle died. My friend lost her brother before the last year of high school. My friends brothers were shot. Past teachers have never experienced relatively routine surgery