That's Mr. Faggot to you (if that's ok.)

11:15 AM holding a folder, wearing my favorite winter overcoat, walking through the garage on my way to pay my parking bill. Approaching the ticket booth on my right, I see a man over to my left and I look back to see who it is.

"Hey, white boy" he says.

Thinking that he may be one of the Arabic men that works the garage, and that he might be headed to the office and might take my check . . . and not sure what to think about "Hey White Boy", I look back again. But a glimpse of sunshine has hampered my shadow vision, I can't see for sure that it's a black man walking purposefully, but in and out of shadows.

"Just keep walking faggoty assed white boy" he says as he passes, smelling of cigarettes, wearing a backpack.

Actually smiling, during the instant of time we almost walk next to one another I say: "Why are you being so rude?"

"Cause I ain't no faggoty assed faggot," he said as he walks out of the garage.

And me? I'm thinking, at least he didn't call me a faggoty assed old man.