The kind of song that didn’t drown out your own thoughts, just help set a mood for them. ‘Are you frightened, by perfection?/Is this who you are, ...ot who you want to be/I walk the line like Johnny Cash/I made the bus in seconds flat/I called your line too many times/I’m not obsessed, just impolite.’ I listened until it faded into silence, I was only a quarter of the way to my car and had just crossed a street to stand in front of a building. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings. If the concept fit, then that would be presented as his particular brand of truth, and what a better and more convenient way to organize the masses of black folk than a broad-based distrust of the white race, from which any number of divergent truths were possible.Claude had already been distrustful of them, ever since he roamed the halls of South Orange high school. The manner in which they confiscated his family, both their hearts and minds that were somehow devoted to and in tune with white. More

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