“Of course, he gets so much!” said Todd with a smirk. “He needs the money!”
Greg’s smile faded as his eyes fell to his shoes, his mouth parting a little.
His chest tightening, Tush’s mind raced. Todd’s and Greg’s voices faded as he harked back to previous comparable encounters.
Outside a church in Michigan, a female worshipper politely pointed out that Tush was the blemish in the white congregation.
At lunch at a common room in a housing coop, the janitor, overhearing a conversation between Tush and his housemates, sought to adroitly educate Tush’s white mates about the barbarism of Tush’s black background.
Over a phone call, a friend recounted how on numerous occasions she had been spoken down to at cafes and other places…
“That is so freaking bigoted!” Tush wanted to scream.
For a brief moment, he thought he felt his face become a shade darker.
What says, ‘I need money’ on me? He mused as his eyes searched Greg’s features. At an inch or two taller than his workmate and more or less a similar thin but fit body build, the only difference he could see between Greg and himself was a tummy that could potentially drag his co-worker out of shape soon if nothing was done.
“So, my skin color sets me apart in this “equal opportunity employer” premises, huh?” He wanted to yell what he had always known but had never wanted to admit.
“That is it!” he suddenly bellowed.