You get so used to being hit you find you’re always waiting for it. (…) How can I say what it feels like? I don’t know. I know everybody’s in trouble and nothing is easy, but how can I explain to you what it feels like to be black when I don’t understand it and don’t want to and spend all my time trying to forget it? I don’t want to hate anybody – but now maybe, I can’t love anybody either – are we friends? Can we really be friends?

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