Lately my coding style has been some sort of sociopathic, oscillation between fits of crippling self doubt and an extreme kanye-like god complex — where I’m either marching around my apt alone all day crying aloud or I’m calling my mother to let her know her 30 year old son is “f***ing the game up (in a good way)”. So naturally it seemed like a good time to take a break and write about it.
…ife on a day-to-day basis. Sure, somebody might yell mean things at me or they might call me names. But when a cop is racist, he has the power to choose to end my life. I’m one traffic stop gone wrong from becoming a hashtag. #RIPZachFreshley. That’s terrifying. What if I run a stop sign and the wrong cop pulls me over? What if I’m walking alone at night and an officer accosts me and because I’m so scared, I look “suspicious”? Who knows what could happen? As a young black man in The South, I am eminently killable. I’m forced to live my life constantly looking over my shoulder because someone in a position of power might be biased against me because of the amount of melanin in my skin. Read that sentence again. I mean…I just don’t know what we’re supposed to do.