Two chunky white cops got out of the front seat, opened the back door, and began encouraging their passenger to get out of the car. When the passenger didn't get out, they resorted to a team effort. It took both of them to wrestle out of the backseat of the car a struggling black man covered with blood, who jerked back and forth as if electrically charged."Fucking pig, fucking pig. You know I didn't do nuthin'. Fuck you, fucker! Geez, man, whatchu doin' this for?""Come on, Harry, be a good boy, you don't want to fall down and hurt yourself, do you?""No, fucker. I'm not goin in there." He was a tall, thin man, emaciated even, wearing pink-and-green-plaid pants with oily-looking stains in the seat and crotch. Navy zip jacket, its front shiny with freshly spilled blood. The man leaned away from the two cops, who were both smaller than he. He braced hard against their tugging like the kind of tree that doesn't bend in the wind, the kind that gets uprooted in a bad storm."Jesus, first he stinks up the car.
