Letter 7



The train on this line is always packed in the mornings. Sardines have it better in their little tin boxes really. Between one pair of stations this blonde girl forced her way into the carriage and was pressed so tightly against me I suddenly realised that this was the closest I been to a woman in a year, and any “biological ” response to that realisation wouldn’t have gone unnoticed on her part. Fortunately it never came to that and she was soon gone.
I’m starting to think I like trains, just a little bit.

I see what the fascination is with women who aren’t black for black men. For one, I couldn’t help but notice how great the mystery blonde’s hair smelt, probably her shampoo or conditioner. I have a roommate from high school who declared that he was done with black women, and from then on, he…

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