Friday, March 10, 2006

When I was fifteen, I remember it very clearly, riding back in one of the family cars from my Aunt Carolyn's funeral, one of her nephews offered me a summer job writing for the local NAACP newspaper in his hometown of Minneanapolis, as he was the local head of the NAACP. As I lived in Alabama and knew nothing of Minneanapolis, I didn't take it. I should have.

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