THE FRIEND
You want an apple? I got another.

KARMA
This what you offer a nigga when they in the mothafuckin' Chicken Shack?

THE FRIEND
Shit'll kill you.

KARMA
Shit is food.

THE FRIEND
Whatever. It's gonna be cold.

KARMA
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

(He goes out. He comes back in with a to-go box. Karma breaks into it. She eats like she hasn’t eaten in years.)

KARMA
Thanks, man.

THE FRIEND
That stuff's vile.

KARMA
You the nigga that works here.

THE FRIEND
Got a record.

Karma laughs.

KARMA
Of course.

THE FRIEND
That's funny.

KARMA
Yep.

FRIEND
Do you think it's funny--fair when a nigga has served their time, fuckin' out early on parole for good behavior...Supposedly on track to rehabilitation. The fuckin' sign out the prison gate has the word, "Correctional" on it, like the nigga's been corrected, and he's got to tick a box on a job application asking if he's been convicted of a crime?

KARMA
Don't get hot. It's fuckin' funny.

THE FRIEND
Shut the fuck up.

KARMA
You don’t laugh much. Huh?

THE FRIEND
You know what? You know how the police puts those great big lights right near the projects, like fuckin', I don't know, like they bottled up the sun and shit? Those fuckin' lights towerin’ over the hood or whatever, to spot the bad guys.

KARMA
Yeah.

THE FRIEND
I was just walkin’, mindin’ my business, on my way back to the Chicken Shack. That great fuckin’ light beamin’ down on me. And up walks Mr. Police Officer.

KARMA
Oh shit.

THE FRIEND
Right behind me, right? Callin’ after me. “Yo!” He shoutin’. “Yo!” Like he down or some shit. I turn around, fuckin’ pissed, cause I know what this is. And he ask me, what I got on me. I tell him, “Nothin’.” Mr. Police Officer ask me to put my hands behind my head, and I ask him why. He’s laughin’ to himself. I tell him he needs a reason. He holds out his cuffs. Mr. Police Officer asks me if there’s a problem with his request. I’m on fuckin’ parole. Can’t get arrested. That’s jail again. “Put your hands on your head.” I’m just thinkin’ ‘bout sayin’ no. I wanna say it. I just wanna fuckin’ say it.

KARMA
And you did right? You shouted that shit all gangsta right?

THE FRIEND
That’s jail. That’s back to prison. Or my life.

KARMA
So you punked out.

THE FRIEND
I put my hands behind my head.

KARMA
You punked out--

THE FRIEND
This shit ain’t funny. You know what’s happenin’ to niggas. Quit stuntin’.

KARMA
I ain’t--

THE FRIEND
Listen nigga. Damn. He tells me to get on my knees. I ask him why. He doesn’t answer. Just waits. He knows I will. I’m starin’ at my shadow on the ground, that great big eye of the inner-city starin’ down on me. This presence, right? You step out the spot or cross the line...They on that perch...and...BLAM! They got you in their sights. Mr. Police Officer is feelin’ me up. Asks for an apology for ruinin’ his holiday. An apology. I do. Say I’m sorry, starin’ at my shadow on the fuckin’ ground...I said sorry... (There's only that. The "sorry" floating. ) You know what I remember ‘bout my first day locked up?

KARMA
What?

THE FRIEND
Felt...right at home. Them bars. Them walls. The tiny space. Bad food. The fuckin’ bed. No money. Them PO’s shoutin’ me down. Knew it all my life. I could just touch them now...

KARMA
Dude. You need some downward dog, God damn.

(The Friend bursts in to laughter.)