It started with my fingernails. In the checkout line at the grocery store, as he rang up my groceries, the teller said, with a half smile, “You got some long nails, man.” I looked at my hands and I looked at him, and him being Black and me being Black, took it as one of those moments where he was asking a question without asking a question. No malicious intent. Maybe even trying to help. Possibly low-key flirting?
Familiar, sorrowful, yet beautifully written.