The country was burning. Though the days of quarantine repeated endlessly like the same diary entry written over and over on an ancient palimpsest, now there was a real change, and it came in flames. The stones that laid the foundation of the country rested atop the blood and bones of the peoples who previously lived on the land and on the backs of stolen peoples forced to build the structures of this new great nation. Each injustice: whether it was the lash, noose, infested blanket, bullet, blade, or humiliation that was taken out on these people was now being repaid, with interest. The catalyst was yet another black man killed in broad daylight, live on video- a blue knee pressed deeply into his neck for almost 10 full minutes. The peace-keeper acted calmly and nonchalantly, like he had done this a million times, but this time he lit the flame on a wick that was hundreds of years old, and soaked in an accelerant that was just waiting for the right match. On top of the generations of ...