Racism, Stress, and Black Death

Last week, I used my aunt’s car to make my way across New Orleans. I am back in Louisiana, where I was born and raised, for a few weeks, and she has lent me her car so that I’m able to run all the errands my mother inevitably assigns to me each time I return home. When I am done, I drive the car back to my aunt’s house, which is only a few blocks from my parents’. On that day, I pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and turned around to see a police car pulling up behind me.