I don’t know his name. I might have, once. I can’t remember. We were friendly. As friendly as a 19 year old white guy and a 30 or maybe 40something year old black, homeless and usually drunk black guy could be. We’d pass each other in the street in Sea Point and acknowledge each other. There’d be some banter. Some joviality, even.

   
Maybe it was motivated by my white guilt and the kind of social awareness and desire for justice that a university student has, but I felt it narrowed the...


Continue reading ...