Or – an alternate title – “Boston, The Racial Valhalla I Never Knew”
My wife and I went on a trip to New England, where I grew up, to visit my parents. It was pleasant in many prototypically New England ways; the leaves were turning and the angle of the sun painted the world in that most flattering light. Continue reading “A Veiled Love Letter to New England”
The black people won’t stop coming. One after the other I kill them. I dole out a torrent of hyper-accurate punches, kicks and head-butts. I take blow after blow in return – to my face, body, kidneys and spleen – but in the end I vanquish the mother-fuckers. I’m the one left standing atop my assailant’s corpse. Still, there’s always another black man behind the one I’ve just bested.
Continue reading “Race War, It’s personal – part 1”