"Ayo, man, you like music?"
I look over at the young man with his bulging backpack, strolling up to me nonchalantly in the hot parking lot of an Atlanta summer as I'm heading up towards the grocery store. The black asphalt is slick with dropped food, discarded fast food wrappers, poured out drinks, and young men just trying to make a buck.
"Yes", I say, knowing how the conversation will go.
"What kind of music you like?" he says, opening the backpack and bobbing his dreads.
"Jazz", I say, peering into the backpack.
The young man startles. His world has literally stopped.
He tries again.
"You like rap?"
"Nope", I say honestly. Because he has a backpack full of this. And I know it.
His world stops again.
"You don't like rap?" It's not a challenge.…