I also found it funny to think about blackness as the second person. That was just sort of funny. Not the first person, but the second person, the other person.

Yes, and the body has a memory. The physical carriage hauls more than its weight. The body is the threshold across which each objectionable call passes into consciousness—all the unintimidated, unblinking, and unflappable resilience does not erase the moments lived through, even as we are eternally stupid or everlastingly optimistic, so ready to be inside, among, a part of the games.

I'm not comfortable, for myself and for others. And yet, one has these people whom you trust, have faith in, whom you believe see what you see, and then you come up against a moment where you feel suddenly tossed out. So I was really interested in those moments.

People expect black women to be angry, irrationally so, without reason. They think we are animals and we go around like the Wild Things.

I also found it funny to think about blackness as the second person. That was just sort of funny. Not the first person, but the second person, the other person.

So you're just moving along and suddenly you get this moment that breaks your ability to continue, and yet you continue. I wanted those kinds of moments. And initially people would say, "I don't think I have any." Their initial reaction was to render invisible those moments weaved into a kind of everydayness.

The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.