“Don’t ask me no questions. N***a, I don’t know you. I got a gun on me, so I suggest you do stop talking to me.”

Tough words coming from a young, redheaded white kid. While he threatened me, he dug around underneath his sweatshirt near his waistband, as if reaching for a gun. He never did produce it. Hopefully he didn’t have one, but you can never be sure, and this antisocial exchange only goes to demonstrate just how complicated it can be to navigate the divide between the haves and the have-nots, relatively speaking, here in Kingston, in the year of our Lord, 2025 — at least if you’re a reporter.

It was Oct. 5 around 2 p.m., and the sun was shining down out of a clear blue sky. It had become clear that the “spike in crime” the newspapers had been reporting was overblown. A 19-year-old

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