washington square park 4/19/16

The afternoon of April 19th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of an illuminescent spring day; the flowers have bloomed profusely and the grass was richly green, at least I wish I could say it was because it was like a white sheet was laid on the lawn, and this figurative semblance is to speak towards all the whites that were out catching sun rays the way light-skin niggas catch bodies these days.



I continue my walk through the gray-paved park. “Vote Trump 2016,” haha right. Such a liberal area and you only witness one Bernie supporter towards the entrance of the park. I’ll go ahead and assume that the reason no avid Bernie supporters are in sight is because they are all voting for him as we speak.


As I am walking, the steady rumbling of a single drum starts to become the prevalent source of attraction. My walking imitates each beat, to the point that I stop for a second (knees bent, back arched) and left-cheek-right-cheek go thudda to this Afro-centric beat. I quickly stop my shenanigans and continue to walk.


I arrive to the epicenter of the music, where a man is sitting in the middle of the fountain. I don’t make much of it at first, up until I realize the source of the music was coming from a white man, alright dope.


Then I become cognizant of the fact that there’s some really lame, really wack-ass interpretive dancing going on. It infuriates me just as soon as I am made aware of what is going on. Just a group of white people, I’m sure they don’t mean no harm; they aren’t out here killing beehives or looting or what have you. They were really just trynna do their interpretive dancing under the mother sun, but that doesn’t mean they ain’t give me no reason to be upset. As they swing side-to-side to what they interpret as Afro-centric dance, they start to nae-nae and dab.

And that, my people, is when I decided to give up on the world of Washington Square Park for the moment, and retreated to sit in my writing classroom, where the sun was the professor, the drums were his voice, and where the dancer would be me.

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