common ground

There is nothing like a UHAUL rent-a-center. As I stood in line with five very large black men I realized all of us were the same. We were all moving. And all hot. And all tired.

Over my thirty minutes in the cinder block room I heard every cell phone ringtone imaginable. Gangsta rap and hispanic jingles. But the last one shocked me. Vivaldi. Coming from the phone of the largest, blackest of the them all. You can't judge a book by it's cover, or a guy by his color.