Untitled Reusable Block

Angry Young White Man — he lives in a malignant fantasy of lost spoils of the once great white race — in my presence, at this restaurant bar, exploded about something that had irked him that day and invoked the always convenient ‘damn f--king niggers.’ In my presence. Of course, my sad scaredy-cat behind froze. Next, would he shoot me? Maybe throw a really smoldering fry at me? He’d come in loud and aggrieved and had started bombasting quite early on. Was he already high? I didn’t know. He looked unimaginably callow, frail. Did he say those things because he saw a solitary woman of color at the bar and that switched something on?