One night, I saw my ex-coworker, this white woman Joanna who wore expensive leggings and dangly bracelets. Just so you know, I’m really pissed about what they did to you, she said. Yeah, thanks, I said. It feels like it happened overnight, she said, her eyes asking something of me—forgiveness maybe—no, that wasn’t right. Praise I think it was. She wanted a gold star. I knew for a fact that she’d voted President Colestein back into office. Had she been paying attention, she would have known it hadn’t happened overnight, that it took a million tiny stabs to bleed democracy dry.
