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Thu Aug 31, 2017, 11:11 AM

When The Racist Is Someone You Know and Love

ďDonít worry, pretty lady. Iíll make sure to use a good, strong lock to keep the niggers out.Ē

He smiled. I blinked. Fifteen years ago, I was moving into my third-floor condo in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. Iíd hired a neighborhood locksmith to re-key the locks. The place was the size of a postage stamp but it was all mine and it had an extraordinary view. Below me was a lush courtyard where weddings took place. If I stood on my tiptoes, carefully leaned over the wooden dish rack with mismatched dishes and looked out my tiny kitchen window, I could see the Mississippi River.

As the locksmith worked in the open doorway, the trilling chords of the calliope from a steamboat clung to the cold river air and crossed the threshold, drifting inside, chilling the room.

The word had been given no special weight among the rest. The manís eyes kind. His skin white, his belly thick, his hands bruised and scarred. He was missing a finger. He reached into his worn leather bag and withdrew a heavy deadbolt. Bigger than the one I had.


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Reply When The Racist Is Someone You Know and Love (Original post)
Arkansas Granny Aug 2017 OP
Atticus Sep 2017 #1

Response to Arkansas Granny (Original post)

Fri Sep 1, 2017, 09:52 PM

1. Well written. A good read. Recommended. nt

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