After school Amanda and I used to sometimes walk to this little market in between our houses called Hershe's. It was a great little neighborhood cornerstore with all kinds of snacks and a deli and such. Well, in 6th grade there was this kid in our class who was of African descent - I'm not trying to be overly PC and say that instead of African-American, I mean he was actually from somewhere in Africa. His skin was so dark that he almost looked blue, so Amanda and I used to call him Big Blue. Looking back, it was kind of racist but we would say it to his face and he liked the nickname - I'm not really sure if he knew why we called him that - but he was okay with it so we were okay with it.
One day we were walking to Hershe's with Big Blue and some of his friends. So we all go and we're picking out candy and magazines like Vogue that I always got in trouble for reading, and we pay (well, some of us do) and leave. We're standing outside examining our stash when a cop car rolls up and the police get out and go up to Big Blue.
From here the story gets hazy - I imagine Amanda and I slowly backing away with a matching look of sheer terror on our faces. We walk backwards like this for a number of feet until we get to the corner, never taking our eyes off of the police or Big Blue. It turns out Big Blue had stolen some stuff and the cashier at Hershe's had witnessed it and called the cops. Amanda and I were, of course, oblivious, and after we got over our fear that we were going to jail with him, we eventually laughed about it while chomping on huge wads of Big League Chew.