Hold My Frappuccino, I Can T Go Back To Prison Analysis

Not so thankful for what happened on thanksgiving. On Thursday, November 26, 2015 my mom suggested that I invite some friends over. My mom just wanted to meet the guys that I was intending to go black friday shopping with later that evening I assumed. Thanksgiving morning, I had asked my friends Ceejay ,Alex, and Collin to come over on Thanksgiving. They arrived and my mom had introduced herself to them and was joking around with them.

Curious, I looked up at the building and suddenly my heart stopped. My muscles contracted and my nerves sent a violent quake through my body. I didn’t notice the dropped cigarette that was burning a hole in my pants. Finally, the pain bit me. I grabbed the cigarette, throwing it out the window while almost swerving off the road. After regaining control, I closed my eyes and reopened them to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating; I wasn‘t. Ten police cars sat in front of the school, all in a perfect line with their drivers standing close-by. I contemplated driving off but it was too late. We had already been spotted.

Whites were now forced to decide if segregation was right or wrong. They felt that if restaurant owners were forced to serve blacks that that infringed upon their civil rights.

An eyewitness told police that he contemplated calling the police and instead called a friend to get advice on what he should do. The man crossed the apartment building and had an elderly women make the call. The man sheepishly told the police “ I didn’t want to get involved” (Gansberg, 1964).

I attempt to clench my warm venti pumpkin spice latte as the fall breeze danced through my fingers, but I pause; the rays of the sun surrounding me,negating the cold. It was another day at a cafe, homework dreadfully waiting to be finished. I try to concentrate on crafting an elegant essay on the Gilded Age, but I couldn’t help but notice that a group of friends were staring in my direction.

On the afternoon of March 12, 2015 I responded to the call of shots fired and two people injured near the Ferguson, Mo, police headquarters. When I arrived I noticed to officers were laying on the ground, I called for EMT’S and backup. Then we sealed of the perimeter, so we can work to provide proper medical attention to the officer’s. Then we proceeded with the investigation. I then examined the crime scene looking for any evidence or clues I could find.

Over winter break on Thursday, December 21 I shadowed Officer Erin Marcotte at the Omaha Police Department at the Southeast Precinct. When I shadowed I was known as the ride along. This is what the department calls anyone that is shadowing or experiencing a day in the life of a police officer. Before the ride along I spoke to the officers about why I decided to shadow there and things that they did in their everyday life. After chatting, I sat in on roll call. This is where the head officer of their department sits down with his or her team and they discuss the previous days work and what everyone’s routes are for the day and or night. During my ride along I was able to sit in the passenger seat of the car. The inside of the car was intriuging

Ikedi O. Onyemaobim (Onyemaobim works for the Los Angeles office of Lewis Brisbois Bisgaard and Smith LLP) illustrates that on August 9, 2014 at 11:54 a.m., Michael Brown was spotted leaving a convenience store with a companion. Surveillance cameras in the store showed Mr. Brown stealing cigarillos before leaving the premises. At 12:01 p.m., Officer Darren Wilson encountered Mr. Brown and his companion walking down the middle of the street; he ordered the two teens to move to the sidewalk . . . Officer Wilson testified that it was at this point he recognized that Mr. Brown fit the description of the suspect in the convenience store theft . . . Officer Wilson testified that Mr. Brown reached into the police vehicle and attempted to take his

On a dark, cold, rainy night in Pittsburgh, I see a suspicious figure walk past. I leave the cafe to see him checking over his shoulder as he enters the station. I resolve to follow the figure and phone the cops as I think he is up to something.

I spoke with Mr. Spight on July 2, 2015. I asked Mr. Spight what happened on the day in question. Mr. Spight stated on Monday, June 29, 2015, he was driving his black Chevy Impala on West Florissant Ave, travelling to the nearby Phillip 66 gas station. While driving, he noticed a police car parked within the parking lot of Springwood Plaza, located on West Florissant Avenue near Heydt Avenue. As he continued driving, he looked up and noticed that same

In Eye On The Prize About Ain’t Scared of Your Jails, the students from colleges in Nashville set up sit-ins at local restaurants. These sit-ins consisted of black and African American Students would sit at counters or areas where whites had been told only they were allowed to sit. When many of these students were placed in jail, local black African American, and white supporters boycotted businesses downtown since they contributed to much of the cities income. Moreover, while the sit-ins were not violent, some violence occurred to prevent the few black residents who did try to go downtown from shopping, this fear of violence eventually spread to white citizens. The main techniques they used were nonviolent, and peaceful; they had been taught techniques to avoid engaging in violence and maintaining their place at the counter. These students wanted to keep their protests as being a student protest. Moreover, they also organized the freedom rides in order to get President Kennedy to enforce the two supreme court rulings that banned

Amidst the swirling ripple of faceless people meandering around fire hydrants, pedestrian signs, and ragged newspaper stands, he stood; embedded within the relentless stream of continuous people trickling by him. The occasional nudge threatened to dislodge his balance as he gazed across the road where two buildings laden by carmine shaded bricks separated. The same two buildings he walked directly pass early in the dewy morning and late in the brisk evening weather everyday for the past two decades. Surely he knew every wondering power line and dimly lit alley of the surrounding neighborhood? Yet something glimmered from in between the impossibly small gap separating the buildings. His conscious turned from thought to action as he leapt from the scuffed curb and into the high voltage current of traffic without a second

The car suddenly stopped and jolted me from my sleep. Disoriented, I looked around and tried to make sense of where I was and what I was doing. Over to my left, I saw my sister doing the same. Tall, blue, connected houses surrounded us and we were parked in the middle of a pristine parking lot. Green, luscious lawns sat in front of those blue houses. A gigantic tree surrounded by beautiful multicolored flowers sat to the left of a dumpster and a wooden sign with white script on it. “The Pointe at Stoneview,” I read to myself.

The bystanders and store owners’ stories were collaborative, that neither officer identified themselves as police until after trying to put Mr. Garner on the ground. During the brief struggle, you can hear Mr. Garner pleading with officers “I CAN’T BREATHE,” to be ignored

As the light turned green, I sat for a moment, not moving, and asked myself what I was going to do. Then I accelerated slowly, waiting for the car on my left to pass as I changed over to the left lane. I made four left turns at four consecutive stoplights until I approached the library again. Pulling into the library's parking lot, I turned off my lights, radio, and heat. As I opened the car door, the cold air stung me like a quick slap to my face. Slowly and uncertainly, I walked toward Mike.