“Cripes, I can’t keep up on this political correct shit. I don’t even know what to call myself. One minute I’m black. Then I’m African American. Then I’m a person of color. Who the hell makes these rules up, anyhow?”

“I’m all mixed up inside. It’s like—I don’t know—like an ignition of some kind. one minute, I’m fine, and the next I’m losing it.”

“No, I’m not an American. I’m one of 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the … victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy. So I’m not standing here speaking to you as an American, or a patriot, or a flag-saluter, or a flag-waver – no, not I! I’m speaking as a victim of this American system. I don’t see any American dream; I see an American nightmare!”

“How do you know?”“Well, I don’t, I’m making this up, but I bet I’m right.”

“I wonder if I’ll ever stop smiling and, if I can’t, what kind of excuse I’ll have to make up to explain it. Or if I’ll even bother. Because at the moment, I just don’t give a shit. I’m happy. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

“You can’t keep her.”I know that. But I’m not ready to give her up just yet.”