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Holiday in the Summer of Tear Gas


White privilege is hiding in beach country during a period of nationwide racial unrest. You go
boating, drink seltzer water, try out different soft serve flavors every night (you really like crushed oreo). You watch Queer Eye, grill every animal, stare at Trump flags competing to cast the largest shadow. You’re more concerned about the fifteen pounds you’ve gained this year than the black smoke over Lake Michigan – another swimsuit attempting to needle its way into a functioning summer. After three days in Ferrysburg, your friends are watching a documentary about police reform hosted by a black journalist; they pause it during a tense close-up of the journalist’s face to go bike riding and pick up groceries. When everybody returns hours later, the journalist is still frozen and waiting, but no one can remember why he’s grimacing.

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