This Is the Way the N-Word Dies

To kill a word, you first have to kill an idea

“I looked over and saw a boy, no more than 18 years old, sitting on his bike. He waited for my reaction, his foot poised on the pedal in case I decided to chase him. I hadn’t provoked him. He was half my size, his English was barely up to the task of expressing his racism, yet he’d decided to do this with his time. It was so absurd that I started laughing.

It wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping to get.” —