Six Degrees of Separation

I have a new crush. His name is Terence. Terence Howard. Just before I got to ATL, I watched a film called Crash which he's in. Check it out, it'll give you food for thought. Some of you may remember him from Ashanti's video for Foolish. He played the gangster in her video version of Goodfellas. He's going to be huge. He reminds me of Benicio Del Toro, as he has the ability to morph into different characters and shrug off the roles he's played previously. He has a film out here called Hustle and Flow. I'm rushing out to see it after I post. I love you Tee-T (that's my pet name for him *cue Psycho music*). I mentioned Terence to Driven Journalist, and it just so happens that her husband knows him and his family. Watch this space, I'm a track that brother down!
After the jobs fair yesterday, I roped in a friend to go track down a vintage shop to pick up some one-offs. Poor guy. We decided to walk, and you know in the US, no one walks anywhere. We were walking for ages to find this shop. We stopped for lunch in Mick's Diner, where as usual we were feted because of our accents. And then suddenly, a CD started playing Kylie and Robbie Williams, I kid you not.
One thing that is always noticeable in the US, and the racial segregation. We walked 20 minutes from downtown, and suddenly, there were plenty more white people about.
I stopped at an Army Surplus store, and found the Dickie's shorts my daughter wanted. And was looking at some military style shirts (big for autumn/winter ladies). Meanwhile my companion was becoming slightly unnerved by the huge confederate flag that was hanging up, and the tone of the conversation he was having with one of the shop workers. The three feet swords, and array of knives and weapons did little to allay the rising sense of wrongness he was feeling, which was only quelled when we left the store.
I found the vintage shop, aptly named Lucky's, and bought a couple of clutch bags, a gold one I had needed for a while, and a Malaysian embroidered cotton jacket. Unique, and pretty.
On the way back, my companion's worst fears were confirmed. Some good old boys screamed at the top of their voice from their 4x4, "Fucking niggers" (note the difference between niggas and niggers). I looked at him and said what did he say? He said, he said what you thought he said.
I was vex. But then I remembered where I was. I guess I can be glad that they didn't roll out the full Klan welcome, burning crosses, comedy outfits and all.