If They’d Told Me We Were Poor, I Would’ve Been Like James Baldwin and Worked a “Black Job”
Like the rest of the deathcore band of Americans who live with perpetual nimbus clouds of trepidation over their hanging heads, I watched CNN’s presidential debate. I was hoping (which is a rare thing for me) that there might be a thin wisp of a silver lining tucked somewhere in the thick, dark gray. There was none, only a thunderclap followed by a streak of lighting. A tempest was brewing—its cumulonimbus wings spread wide open, blocking out the sun. The two most powerful men in the free world ended the night debating their golf games. Читать дальше...
