the skinny.

WAS being the operative word, because here we are. Welcome.

I don't usually read the paper, but sometimes do glance at headlines - especially when I'm not at home. You can get a lot about a place through the cadence and structure of a hometown newspaper headline. In this case, I am in New Orleans, the paper is the Times Picayune, and some of the headlines juxtapose one another perfectly. Above the fold on the front page:

i haven't been myself gracefully,
not for a while.
and in another joke dream
last night, i was buried underground.
i felt my mother's pain in my body

illuminated like a pocket compass in my hand,
and used it to triangulate my way back
through the cracks i slipped through once.
when i woke up i knew that it was the truth,
i have my mothers hands.

i'm saying this because i want to to feel you lying next to me.

This blog is about mobilizing our communities in support of (and somewhat demanding) fairness in business. We have the power collectively to leverage some power, and this week I made it my hobby to develop a mechanism by which that might happen.

I have not forgotten that I used to live on 242 Josephine St. Apartment A. Atlanta, GA.

I used to get up every morning between 7:30 and 9:00 and take my dog on a run or a long walk. Like clockwork. Sometimes, I would pass by Christy Bradley's house. I passed by her house, and the green Godfather van with the AK-47 stenciled on the spare tire cover, whenever I decided I wanted a radial bagel.