Drug Dealers, Chairs, and White Supremacy: A Philosophical Meditation on Antiblackness

I’m convinced a drug dealer lives upstairs.

He’s not what you envision, though — or maybe you do. He looks like a surfer — or maybe a skater. You know the type: long, stringy brown hair, joggers, and skater shoes. He’s young, too. Can’t be more than 25. I see him constantly going to and fro, leaving and returning to…