The sad looking clerk raised her head slightly. She glanced quickly at the girl seeing if she would raise objections.
She didn’t, she wouldn’t…didn’t matter anyway.

Two over zealous ladies chatted gleefully while clinging to ugly over sized hand bangs to their noisy sunken hips. Pale and blue as their patterned hats, they proudly stepped pass the dark girl like she was pure glass.

She knew their act, too “senile” to conceive of their victory of right and privilege. But they knew what they did.

“A vicious cycle, poverty and wealth…”, she thought

She’d read Emerson’s epic. What makes a man disappear in social boundaries when his skin and taxable income is received more than fiction?

She got her turn to spend her money. No big fanfare. Another battle lost.

As she walked through the parking lot, head lowered, one thought pierced her soul.

“If I’m glass, then I’m bullet proof. If I’m silent air, I’m the eye of the storm. ‘Cause the day I have my son, obscurity’s going to get it…hmp” She smiled.

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