"Time is different now, it moves much slower, faster. Days slip away into night. I have always been a night person. I find a warm place to curl up in the middle of a dark room, and listen... and something, is listening to me." James Baldwin 1987. I am not a black man, I am not, nor have I ever been, a slave, but for this anger that wells up in my throat bringing a choke to the back of my mouth, and water from my eyes. Not a fearful pause, or is it need for me to worry more, but when the moment comes again for me to find a reason to let you live. I very well might not. Choking you dead, but beautifully planned; as the Cemetery tree Brugmansia, with its huge drooping belled flowers. I would leave you there without an answer; as you brought me here. A cold morning's feast for the best crow. Going home, I would kiss my wife's forehead, and eat fresh fruit to the sound of our children playing Knowing it's a better world, without you in it.