I wanted to write a political piece about race and culture and how to fix it all, but…. I’m tired. And I’m too realistic to pretend that I can pull out a single solution from the complex and intricate tangle of thread that all of racism is.
You know this scene. The scream of espresso machines. Indie rock music plucking away in the background. Flowers displayed in empty coke bottles decorating an array of colorfully mismatched tables. The aroma of freshly brewed fair trade coffee drifting through the room filled with artfully disheveled-looking twenty-somethings and the occasional middle-aged man with a very impressive beard.