Girl, what are you crying for? I reckon this same text is sent in confidence by millions of people providing a service in America, or around the world, on a daily basis. People are legitimately traumatized from having to do business with black people. That realtor and owner have probably shuddered at the sight of incomprehensible property damage by black tenants far too many times. Not to mention, if they don’t go with their gut and they ‘try not to be racist’ and decide to rent to niggas, those niggas can just decide to stop paying rent, and the owner is screwed. I know someone trying to rent a property right now. Every black person who calls, “YO YOU TAKE VOUCHAS?” No hello, no proper conversation, while also not having any money. “Ugh they are black” translates to “sigh…this is probably going to be some BS.” What kind of BS, is always yet to be seen. Don’t be so solipsistic that you can’t step outside yourself to see that you are suffering for the sins of others. You can’t fault people for pattern recognition. Stop thinking they should already know your ass. They don’t know you. They do know that you could have a son or a nephew who comes from a ‘decent black family’ but decides to become a YN, like Karmelo Anthony. They do know that your cousin Rey Rey from Georgia might come up to stay with you for a month. They do know that when blacks see other blacks living somewhere, they feel comfortable moving there and eventually they’ll swarm the place and you’ll literally start seeing chicken bones in random places and random odorous guys in dreadlocks and Nike Techs smoking their daily blunt in front of the deli with a menacing look on their face. The new broken window theory: chicken bones, and tarantula head blunt trolls stinking up the corner. Oh, and someone suing for racial discrimination. Add that one. If you don’t like being discriminated against, blame other black people. I know, it’s tough. We are guilty until proven innocent. But I’ve been a nigga disappointment myself in my own ways at some point in my life, and I’ve likewise seen bafflingly inexplicable municipal nigga waste, toilet-breaking fat asses, outdoor and indoor chicken bone trails and forgotten chicken bone artifacts under and inside furniture, and mysterious territorial pissings that left me with permanently braced muscles, bewilderment and süìć1dål exasperation. We are just going to have to meet people halfway, in good faith, as much as possible.