One summer evening in upper Manhattan, there was a lot of screaming coming from the street four stories below. I looked out the window to check out the commotion.
There was a gang of teenagers in white oversized tee-shirts running up the street with baseball bats and various stick like weapons. Pursuing them, was another gang of teenagers in white tee-shirts, with baseball bats and machetes. Once everyone arrived, there were about 50 kids from two local drug gangs, violently fighting on the street.
Bats and machetes were flying. Glass bottles busted all over the street and hit parked cars. Some bystanders were screaming in fear, some screaming in anger. Multiple people, including myself, were calling 911.
When police finally came, everyone split so quickly, except for the broken glass; it was like it never even happened.
The whole scene could have been a modern version of West Side Story peppered with a little In the Heights. Without the singing and dancing of course.
I guess seeing a gang member with a knife doing pirouettes would be confusing and scary; but I have yet to see that in real life. However, 50 angry teens wielding baseball bats and machetes was crazy and confusing enough.