The Art of the Text: the Response

What could possibly feel lonlier? I send a text; no response. A few hours go by; no response. Twenty-four hours later I feel like a person who’s standing, uninvited, on the porch of someone they believe is their friend, ringing their doorbell, knowing they’re on the other side of the door, peeping through the peep-hole.…

The pimple through the veil

The first time I ever felt behavior that I could clearly define as prejudiced because it directly involved my brown skin color, I was working as a staff writer at a newspaper in my home town in 1994 when I was 32 years old. I was the only black writer in the community and general…