“Here you go, love. Where are you?” he asked in his hackney accent.
I hopped off my stool and went to the counter. Then he asked again if I wanted any condiments. He probably forgot he asked me already. I shook my head ‘no’. Then he asked if I wanted any hot sauce. Again, I said no and left the shop. I thought that was strange. I’m walking down the block and wondering, “Who the hell puts hot sauce on fish and chips?”
Black people.
I smiled. I couldn’t even get mad at him. As I’m approaching the subway entrance, I see a woman who is confused, getting directions from a man who is confused. People often ask me for navigation tips when I’m walking around so I prepped myself. Next to that man and woman, there was a homeless guy (one of those got-better-clothes-than-yo
“What you worried ‘bout her for? I’m the one that needs help!”
My man begging for money and gonna get rude! Maybe the cold and hunger made him irritable, but I’m supposed to go in my pocket to help him after he’s being demanding and belligerent?
Yup, he was Black.
I should’ve reached in my bag and started eating my fish and chips right in front of him.
Again, Black People.
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