I come from a large middle class family, and all of us worked whatever jobs we could get from an early age. I went from a paper route, cutting lawns, shoveling snow, construction labor - to my first summer job at an amusement park at age 14. I had to ride my bike through niggerville at night, to get home. It was a gauntlet of stoop monkeys and porchies, and a pocket knife wasn't enough. I saved up and bought my first handgun, a .380 Femaru P37, but every day carrying was out of the question. So I purposely encouraged the jigs to fuck with me one night, and pulled it on them. They disappeared in one second, and never bothered me again.
After I started high school, my older sister got me a job at the supermarket she worked at. She got off before I did, so she wouldn't have to head home after dark. She was about to walk over the Long Beach bridge, when a retard nigger climbed up the embankment and ran up to her. He grabbed her pocketbook, containing her week's pay ($63), and as she hung on to it, he punched her in the head a couple of times. He then kicked her, ripped it out of her hands, and took off. Some drivers jumped out of their vehicles, but it was too late. She made it home alright, with a couple of bumps and bruises. She didn't make a big deal about it.
I heard about this and went fucking wild. I was out every day and night for a week looking for that spook, with a vengeance. The Long Beach detective that we knew told my Dad to tell me to quit going over there. They caught that piece of shit nigger a couple of weeks later, but we never heard anything about it afterwards.