I’m on the train. I’m in the “quiet car.” There is an African American couple. The woman is talking on her phone. Has been for fifty minutes. She is not quiet, in other words. I can’t tell what’s she’s saying except she’s talking about her kids. Something something “those motherfuckers.” She says “sheeeit” like Clay Davis, loud as hell. And I think: black people should not be allowed in the quiet car. Goddamn blacks. Etc.
I beat a woman while fleeing from the cops a couple weeks ago. I still live mostly off unemployment and I spend that money on cheap liquor, not my bills. I probably have kids I don’t know about. If I did know I couldn’t pay for them. Every night I cook a huge fatty piece of pork, or fry some chicken, and then get hammered on hobo booze and try to fuck fat white women. I’m white, but I embody every stereotype about African Americans. Except for my smaller wang and less robust deltoids. Continue reading