Dali and I walked out the gates of the school to look for a barbecue stall. Halfway through our meal, a few vans suddenly accelerated up the street and came to a screeching halt. I had a bad feeling about this.

A group of long-haired burly men covered in tattoos jumped out of the van, the earrings on their ears gleaming under the streetlamp. They crossed the street and sauntered towards us, frightening Dali so much that a mutton skewer fell out his open mouth. "Dude, are these gangsters? I think they’re looking for us."

The other customers at the barbecue stall ran away in fright. Someone took out a photo, glanced at me and then looked at the photo again. Loud whispers circulated among the gang. It seemed Dali was right–they were coming for me.

Dali urged me to run but I leisurely took a bite out of my mutton skewer and said, "Don’t worry!"

"Fuck, how are...