fiction and musings from a gay black dude with delusions above his station
This story could be called a love letter to the Duke Ellington Orchestra. I wrote it around the time I fell head over heels for all things Ellington and started listening to his music 23 out of 24 hours in the day — a practice I continue to the present time. I immersed myself in…
1985. UCLA. Sophomore year. I fell into the swell of anti-apartheid protests that engulfed the campus that year and began to live the life of the “activist student.” My mother made a suggestion.
“You should start writing a journal.”
