"What is this the sixties?"
"Is this about race?"
"Did you hear Maya's talk last week?"
"And this is all connected somehow?"
The auditorium lights flickered.
"Ooooooo. I can't wait. Finish smoking!"
"I'm not too excited."
"Isn't she in your upline or whatever you girls call those heroic black women who came before you?"
"She may be if I sign with
"She's got no brains left." A big sister told.
The tremor of shock at that tidbit had different timing to each person's mind.
"Best advice?"
"Some owls said, (i)have pity(i), and that woman over there," hands stayed in dress pants pockets, but people followed eyes,
"She's (i)literary(i) not music."
"She openly suggested some of us (i)human beings(i) are already like Alzheimer's not-patients."
"Oh, so, makes sense why lil Miss Tude was talkin' 'bout (i)confrontation(i). At which point I," a wheez in, "I," a long finger to under the nose,
"You left?!"
The sneeze didn't happen. A nod. "Got cold medicine, heart healthy kind, and went home."
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