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"Blacks to cry for could be here" he thought. "I've never been in this neighborhood before. There could be cry inducing blacks anywhere." The clammy, sushi, mochi and overpriced Japanese ale (Hitachino, always fucking Hitachino) filled air felt good against his edgy t-shirted chest. I LOVE BLUBBERING FOR BLACK PEOPLE he thought. Heavy Rotation by AKB48 reverberated his entire dining room (now renamed "the nam nam kushikatsu palace" by his wife). making it pulsate even as the $700 sake (which costs less than $20 in Don Quijote) circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) tear of minorities after dark. "With a dead black, you can cry anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud
