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In Chicago, it was a game to me and my friends. Rule number one of playing white was to never be seen alone. I’d enter all-white diners, not hiding out in the back hoping to be ignored, but sitting right next to a person at a counter. This way I could blend in with the customers. Then I would gather up multiple food orders and meet my boys in an alley. But here, passing wasn’t playing. It was permanent.
The Color of a Lie
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