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“Stop texting and driving, boy,” scolded Deitrick’s mother.“Yes ma’am,” the twenty year-old light-skinned man relented throwing his phone in the cup holder.“I swear you gon’ worry me to death,” she went on.“Look, ma. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” he lied.“Alright,” she replied feeling she’d won this battle.Deitrick turned into the parking lot of the large discount store where his mother worked as an assistant manager. He brought the metallic silver 2007 Ford Five Hundred to a halt in front...