Profiling

As previously mentioned I live in the ghetto... like kid got shot between the eyes just down the road ghetto, drugs deals, coke heads, don't walk alone at night ghetto. And while the 'brothers' in the hood are pretty protective, doesn't make this place any less gansta!
So... I'm driving home from work tonight (which was followed with wine and dinner) and I get 2 blocks from my street and I turn the corner only to be behind a cop. cool... monitoring safe following distance while trying to remember if I have any outstanding offenses. At the next corner, I go straight, he goes right, both streets lead to Bloor, just the street I took runs directly into my little street after you cross bloor, the coppers does not. I saw him at the corner at the lights as I went straight. He turned left to follow me. No big deal, lots of coppers in the area; it is after all, ghetto. I turn onto my street, which basically just has my building on it. He turns onto my street. I pull into the garage driveway, roll down my window, think about getting out and asking what's up, but instead punch in my code and head down into the garage, but not until after I watch the copper write down my plate or maybe the make of my car.

Dear Copper,

Let me tell you about my car.

It is a 2001 Hyundai Accent, gold with a blue hood (long story) and dents all around, none of which were my fault. Her name is Binty. Sometimes the right tail light goes out because the fuse blows easily. The blinkers don't work when the car is cold. It's dirty, inside and out. The cd player is great but the right rear speaker is blown, the ceiling rattles and the back window wasn't installed properly so dust blows in. The windows are kind-of tinted, just enough, but not really. She needs an alignment, new tires and new wheel bearings on the front as well as new break pads and shoes on the back. The washer fluid tank is full but the pump only works sometimes and if you don't use two hands to roll up the drivers side window, the window slides out of the frame. Oh, and when you hit a bump, the passenger window opens a notch.
Binty is insured.

I, Bobbi, drive Binty. I have a clean record, a degree, a job, good family, good friends and good intentions. I speed. A lot. I dream about owning a brand new car and buying it in cash so I don't have to worry about all the little faults Binty has.

So... Copper?
 I do not appreciate you following me home and taking down my plate and making me feel like I'm doing something wrong. How is you following me taking, down my info and doing nothing about it, doing your job? How will you pulling me over tomorrow make this world a safer place? It's bad enough that my job makes me feel like I'm not quite enough, I don't need you taking a gander at Binty and I and assuming I fit right into this ghetto.
Fuck You. :)