When i was 16 in prison, and got introduced to france for non bo tis, young, black, gaydu us like this doesn't happen. I couldn't understand a word of what i was reading. Blackskin, white mass. Idont understand this, you know, wretched of the earth. And it story always stuck with me, because that's such inadequate explanation for taking somebody's life. For me, it's like, my own crime, an my own violence, is how we oul tell ourselves stories about why we do things. The only thing i understood was some of the stories, and i remembered em, and i curried em with me.