It’s the first thing in the morning, and I’m driving down the highway in my custom jet black Dodge SRT Hellcat with a front splitter with a rear spoiler and a rear diffuser just cruising with everything quiet and calm. The Carson family is behind me, going the same direction, but I don’t know them and they don’t know me at all. At some point they pull up beside me, and I can tell they’re confused when they see me—a Black teenager in the driver’s seat of the car. They start looking over, trying to figure out how I got it or who it belongs to, like they can’t really piece it together in their heads. I’ve got on regular clothes , so that only seems to add to their confusion even more, like they’re trying to match everything up and nothing is making sense to them. They keep glancing over while we’re both moving down the highway, and I just stay focused, hands on the wheel, not really reacting, just continuing to drive my own way of course they’re mad because I’m black and they are racist.