Went for a walk along Division St. in the Goose Island area between Ashland and Halsted Saturday afternoon. Was hoping for a peaceful stroll to listen to a kick ass new 80s playlist I'd created the day before (lots of Peter Gabriel, Alan Parsons Project and The Fixx).

The weather was decent. I wasn't too hungover. I had the whole day ahead of me.

My tranquility was interrupted just a few blocks into the hike when I saw a purple basketball zoom past the left side of my head and bounce off one of the concrete columns of the Kennedy Expressway overpass I was walking under.

"What the fuck? Who the hell's throwing a basketball at me," I thought to myself, then stopped and turned around.

Three pre-pubescent black youths were standing about 15 feet behind me, and as I turned to them, they each stopped in their tracks and began pointing fingers at another one of the guys in their group. As if none of them did it.

I briefly thought of nipping this whole situation in the bud right away; picking the ball up and throwing it in the fenced in area of the underpass so they'd have to climb the fence and get it or leave it altogether. But I'm not that big of a dick head (yet), and I figured that would probably just exacerbate the situation.

So I just shook my head and continued on my way.

"If I ignore them, they'll leave me alone," I thought to myself.

Wrong.

About thirty feet later I feel something bounce up against the back of my left leg. I see out of the right side of my eye the same purple basketball bounce onto Division St. Since they aren't even throwing the ball that hard I didn't bother to turn back. I just kept heading east on Division.

"Well, this is going to get old," I thought to myself. There's virtually no residential areas in Goose Island, and considering the nearest batch of housing wasn't until Cabrini-Green about six blocks ahead (which was probably where they lived), I figured I'd be with these rascals for at least that long.

Things were peaceful for a moment after I crossed the first bridge over the North Branch of the Chicago River, but sure enough, a block later, I feel the ball bounce off my right shoulder and see it roll onto Division again. (I wonder what the people driving by thought of this situation? Did they think I'd done something to the kids to deserve this treatment? Or were they like "Ha, look at kids fucking with that guy. That's pretty funny.)

This time I couldn't help but laugh at how funny it all probably looked. And they saw me laugh, which was certainly not a good thing.

Then about 20 feet later, with much more force than before, I see the ball whiz past my left shoulder and bounce a nearby fence to my ankles.

"Do you want your fucking ball, punks?" I scream at them, while motioning like I’m going to throw it over the fence of the parking lot I’m walking by. "Do you really! Cause I'm gonna throw it over this fucking fence if you throw it at me one more time!"

They each step back and turn their shoulders to me to protect themselves.

"Stop throwing this at me! Damn!" I yell again.

Instead of pelting them with it like they expected me to, I just bounced the ball to the one in front whom I suspect is the instigator of this situation.

A minute later, I see a couple rocks skid past me on the concrete. Decent sized rocks that would have hurt had they hit me in the back of the head.

This crossed a line.

"Quit it you motherfuckers!" I turn and scream. "Leave me alone! I didn't do shit to you guys. I'm just trying to go for a fucking walk! Stop throwing that fucking thing at me."

As I step to them the one in front turns and runs and one of his friends — the one who's been in the rear the whole time — and scolds him.

"What are you scared of him for?”

I instantly thought of the last season of HBO's “The Wire,” which focused on the kids living in the gang infested areas of Baltimore (which look a lot like Cabrini). I thought about how those kids, at 11 and 12, were much harder than I was.

I thought of the little kid that shot Omar in the head.

I also thought of the fact one of these kids probably has a raw dog brother living in Cabrini that'd track come out and fuck my shit up if he found out I laid a hand one his little brother.

So instead of going back and roughing the kids up, I just let it die.

From there on, they pretty much left me alone. I was approaching the second bridge over the North Branch and off in the distance was a cop who had just pulled somebody over with his lights flashing (might have had something to do with that).

I turned back to the kids one last time. They were bouncing their ball around. They didn't even notice me.

As I turned back to make my way across the bridge, I felt old, perhaps as old as I have in long time.

This is who I am now. The old guy walking down the street by himself that kids throw shit at.

These kids didn't care that I was only 28. I could have been 88 for all they cared. All they saw in me was some white dude that was older than they can imagine being, who they can fuck with and won't fuck with them back.

That realization was more saddening than the realization that there are kids in this town that seem to have no qualms with throwing rocks at random people walking by.