From Where Bitches Come

They appeared to be friends, these kids. Maybe they were related. There were five of them, black kids aged about 10-12, crossing 8th street in Topeka.

A girl, the portliest of the bunch, was on a bike while three of the others walked.
"Slow down, you fat bitch," came the holler from the short, skinny kid on foot.

The girl didn't even react.

Maybe by now, by 12 years old, she's been called a fat bitch so many times it doesn't even faze her. Maybe she's not really a bitch, either. Maybe she's a perfectly sweet girl who is also fat.

Doesn't matter. She's a bitch not because she's a bitch, but because she's fat. And maybe she hears this enough times she starts to believe it. And maybe when she's 16 or 20 or 35 she's finally given up trying to be nice, because it never mattered. She was always just a fat bitch. So that's what she's decided to become.

Maybe this is from where bitches come.