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From the novel "ONLY THE STRONG" about teen addiction to steroids-

The area was so isolated. Every building was decorated or designed with architecture that reflected the area's name: Chinatown. The mushroom he needed was here, in a small Asian medicine shop. He had spent hundreds to get the first batch of the fungus over the Internet, when, he found out, that the substance was available locally at about one fifth the price. Everyone was a thief or a robber.

The shop was on Stockton Street, almost the very center of Chinatown. He knew the area from the descriptions of Pastor Lem, but this was the first time he had ever been. There was a chill that hung in the air that wasn't from the San Francisco Bay. It was a heavy, cold, eerie, sensation that Eric couldn't place. It was a feeling almost like fear, but it clung to a person, physically.

Eric was glad for the fact that he was black, Pastor Lem relating to the youth at church how the thugs in the area hated whites. Cracker, Gwai-lo (ghost people), Ang-Moh (Westerner)- all words used to express the disdain that the gang bangers had for anyone who didn't look like they belonged there. A person who was white on the outside, but yellow on the inside was an egg, An egg was okay. The term meant that someone has disassociated themselves from white society or philosophy enough to be actually considered quasi-Asian. The transformation happened most often in martial arts classes, after a white person had taken enough of a beating to earn a higher belt, and earn the respect of the teacher and, therefore, the rest of the class

A Twinkie was yellow on the outside, but white on the inside- one of the worst insults that could be leveled against anyone, but especially an American born Asian. The indictment was that they had left their roots and become a pawn of the white man's philosophy. No one ever considered that these two terms might be racially charged or discriminatory. Eric figured he would be a Hoho- white and black swirled together. He looked at his arm: mulatto skin was much easier to hide than Gwai-lo. No one would be bothering him.

He had parked his truck at one of the Bay Area Rapid Transit stations and ridden the elevated train into the city. The trip was longer than driving, adding 70 extra minutes to a 90 minute round trip, but much easier than trying to drive in San Francisco and cheaper than trying to find a parking spot. He wouldn't have considered the BART as an option, but

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