When this gray world crumbles like a cake

When I walked into the breakroom today to take my last 15, I found five people seated around the main table. Considering the store's employee demographic, it was not surprising to find that they were all black.

"We having a regular nigga party in here!" noted Janice. Myron nodded sagely, adding, "yeah, we all niggas here." Camilla was quick to point out, however, that I was not, in fact, by any standard working definition, a nigga, which prompted Tauriauna to disagree heartilly. The vote came in, 4 - 5 in favor of me being a nigga, and Keith motioned me to the only available chair. Then they all coached me on my pronunciation of "whatup" and "a'ight." I forgave Camilla for being the sole nigga-status dissenter on the grounds that I'm about as much a nigga as I am a neurosurgeon, though I appreciate the sentiment. I think.

I'm not sure I'll ever actually be able to say "nigga" aloud without wanting to hide under a table. I'm getting better at "whatup," though.