“O.K son. I’m more convinced than ever… Look”…He tapped his finger on a document and walked to his glass sliding doors & stared out at his unobscured ocean view, beautiful blue skies, sailboats, happy ppl sprinkled everywhere on white sandy beaches. He sipped his valerian tea, put his hand in his pocket and rocked on his heels a little. “Ya’ know son. I just wanted to be free. Free. In its literal sense. Work for me. Catch my own food, grow my own veggies/fruits. Make my own repairs or, have a way to pay for it, be able to barter & trade. Have good friends. If not church then spiritual gatherings, do for others with a glad kind heart. Mind my business. No pressure is what I’m saying. Good food. Real food. Peace. Some animals, books. But, in this OWO ‘Man will cry Peace, Peace but there is no peace.’ This is my first stop in my quest. Never thought I’d be able to afford a beachfront view in the U.S..paying for white folks beaches I can’t even walk on. Some ‘ole bu**s*it. Good enough to slave for ‘em though” He furrowed his brow & looked over his shoulder at me sitting near his island in the kitchen & said, “I’m confused. Now work with me son. Have an open mind. That’s why I don’t deal with many folk. They programmed in the U.S. “Art is suppose to IMITATE LIFE” but they do it the other way around.