Why I didn’t report. Why I wish I did. Why I would testify… if I saw my attacker was nominated as a Supreme Court Justice. Rutgers University 2001 It was my senior year and I lived off campus with two other roommates. We weren’t huge party people, all of us got good grades and went on to graduate and have solid careers. (Not that any of that really matters to the story.) Our favorite local bar was one block away, so we would walk down for drinks on weekend nights and sometimes for Happy Hour. I turned 21 that year, so drinking at a bar felt cool and fun, though our favorite part was the jukebox. Weezer, The Cars, Barry White, Stevie Wonder…we sang our hearts out. Quickly we earned status as “regulars” and got to know some of the bartenders. One in particular was older than us, probably pushing 40, stood out because he was so friendly and often gave us drinks for free after we had paid for one or two. I don’t remember his name, but I still remember his face. One night, my roommate headed home early. I told her I’d be fine…it was only a one block walk. After she left, the bartender started talking to me more and more. It didn’t take long for me to have a few...Read More
Author: Paige Vaccaro
So you love her hair, eh? Wild and free Curls defying gravity You love how they bounce When she walks So full of cuteness Every ounce You love her light eyes And how they pop Against the backdrop Of her caramel skin She’s so beautiful Your pockets would be so full You say If she would model For Old Navy Or some agency Willing to pay For her variety Of beauty You love her hair, eh? That’s what you say But can you see The legacy Of slavery Buried in her skin Can you feel the heat Of prejudice...Read More
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