Tuesday, January 25, 2005
As we took the tube home a drunken man called to me to sit with him. My liberal sensibilities were thrown. On the one hand, here was a drunk bothering strangers on the underground. On the other, he was black. If I rejected his friendliness he would conclude that yes, he had been right all along, the white world cared nothing for him and he should have nothing to do with it. I should sit with him. We could talk and laugh, learn from each other, forge an understanding. Our different voices would combine and create a beautiful harmony. Here was an opportunity to create a new chord, one which is never heard enough. The chord of freedom! The chord of brotherhood!
And yet I walked on, pole-axed by his spontaneous choice of nickname for me.
Of course “Travis”.
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And yet I walked on, pole-axed by his spontaneous choice of nickname for me.
Of course “Travis”.
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