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As you begin to reach for your grocery apron the officer draws its weapon; its shouts muffled through the tempered glass but clear enough for you to hear him say “put your hands up!”— You put your hands up and are told, quite forcefully, to exit the vehicle. As the officer begins to cuff you a crowd from the bookstore starts #lming with various “phones” and other electronic gadgets. After several minutes sitting in the parking lot, this time directly on the asphalt, you realize that your pilonidal cyst is (aring up. The officer realizes you were reaching for your keys, asks you why you were reclined in a parking lot for two hours. You realize how much white privilege comes into determining the outcome of this situation. You leave with little more than embarrassment, and try to #gure out how your life has gotten to the point where your only space of refuge is loitering in a strip mall parking lot. You start the car and pull out of the parking lot. Waves of unkempt anxiety waver and dissipate.
Do you drive West? Turn to page 3