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I sat in the dentist's office this morning reading a National Geographic book as National Public Radio played on the radio. The feature was jazz and black comic books.

Then came the shrill voice of Lilith, in the guise of a woman named Goodman. For ten minutes this witch reported only one kind of news, "white police officers" shooting African American men" to death. She reported on how many bullets, how old the victim was, the status of the case, id hey were shot in the head, the grief of the bereaved, including a BLM speech to "do more than protest." When I was finally—the only paleface in the building—called back to the dentist chair my black dentist spoke to me about how dangerous it is for her now to be on the street and that she was acquiring "pepper spray."

On my way home, passing through the three block Hamilton Commercial Zone, a place I have not visited from a quarter-mile away once in six months, I noticed that two traditional white businesses had closed—the paint store and the vacuum cleaner store and repair shop—the latter of which ahs drawn customer from up to 40 miles away for years—customers who must be afraid of being gunned down by the white police and have abandoned the niche business.

The barber shop was empty.

A third business was no vacant, though I don't recall what it was, only that it stands empty between the bakery and the restaurant that closed last year.

Two second floor apartments are no vacant.

Traffic was so light one could cross Harford Road rather carelessly.

The white police must be kicking in doors and driving way all of these white business owners so that the oppressed will have no "infrastructure."

I passed by four swearing, posing thugs and thugesses in front of the beauty supply shop.

Die, Hamilton, die.

The Mind of Mescaline Franklin

The Awakening of a Paleface Ethnocist

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