“To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive.”
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894)

It’s not just the boots. I like them and think they look cool, but they are not the motivation. I was considering buying a motorcycle, not a crotch rocket mind you, and taking off. I was considering a list of places that I wanted to go and things I wanted to see. A motorcycle would make sense to me. It’s like the modern day horse. Anyone who had dreams of being a cowboy should buy a motorcycle. I would a .45 revolver to that, but I know I’d get stopped and searched somewhere in middle America. I think this is one of those times where being black would hinder me. It’s enough to be the strange guy who rode his motorcycle into town, but being the strange black guy who does that can’t improve my standing. It’s like leaving messages for apartments, I’ve considered taking the bass out of my voice and using my first initials and last name. That way they’d think I was a jewish guy. As it stands I think they usually can’t pronounce my name and just say the hell with it and call someone named Bob or Steve. My name is a street fight in Palestine and that would be the third thing to cause me some problems. Then again I could just do the biker thing and have a nickname. Of course…that means I’d probably have to bang a bunch of white chicks. I mean who wants to run through some podunk town trying to find the one woman of some ethnicity…who’s probably married to the dude in town with the most power or something. Plus I have to worry about the local folks getting mad cause “they don’t want me messing with their womenfolk”. Plus it might be hard to find Guiness Stout. Maybe I should just buy a Charger, paint it black with a red, black and green flag on top, call it the Hannibal Barca and call it a day.