“I put the “phony” in symphony. Will you be attending my fake concert? It’s a black-tie event. Shirts, jackets, pants, and shoes are optional.”

“Today he wore a burnt-orange shirt, black pants, and a tie that looked like a street fight at the south end of the color wheel.”

“The fact that students passed him by in uniform and he was standing there in torn jeans and faded old concert T-shirt made me smile. The rebel in me could totally relate.I stopped in front of him. "They're not going to let you stay in school dressed like that. I got a huge lecture for wearing a black shirt the other day."He glanced my outfit, which didn't really diverge from my normal fashion, and arched an eyebrow. Black cargo pants, white tank, grey zip-up hoodie, with a blade strapped to my thigh and a dagger in my boot."What? Pants are black. Shirt is white. Blade stays." I grinned wider. "Because I'm special.”

“I judge people based solely on the quality of bands on the black concert t-shirts they wear.”

“Wait, so am I allowed to put my shirt back on? Or did you want me to remove my pants, too?”

“I suggested that we might buy one hundred seats for one of Rochester's symphony concerts. We would select a concert in which the music would be relatively quiet. The hundred blacks who would be given tickets would first be treated to a three-hour pre-concert dinner in the community, in which they would be fed nothing but baked beans, and lots of them; them the people would go to the symphony hall--with obvious consequences.”