Corner Store by Markeith Hogan ‘23 Somewhere in the overloaded streets of Japan on a humid summer day lies a corner store, a seven-eleven in walks an exotic, maybe on vacation or perhaps lives nearby but he does not appear like a traditional Japanese man the complete opposite, unforgettably he walks the aisles row by row the clerk glares at him, Tension rises maybe it was the shade of his skin perhaps his sheer size, the counterfeit smile twisted into an assumption. because he looked black, because he looked American to the clerk, surely this foreign man only speaks English, to the clerk, he only speaks danger. With a forged welcome “Good morning” “How can I help you” his counterfeit smile, maybe it was fear talking Or perhaps instinct “Are you buying anything or just looking?” disapproval bombs the store Why am I, A black man, on Japanese ground, targeted like a terrorist?
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