Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet 524

 

Here is an excerpt from a book I recently read, "Going to Meet the Man: Stories," by James Baldwin.

They hated him, and this hatred was blacker than their hearts, blacker than their skins, redder than their blood, and harder, by far, than his club. Each day, each night, he felt worn out, aching, with their smell in his nostrils and filling his lungs, as though he were drowning—drowning in ni**ers; and it was all to be done again when he awoke. It would never end. It would never end. Perhaps this was what the singing had meant all along. They had not been singing black folks into heaven, they had been singing white folks into hell.