By: Akilah C. McDaniel
Imagine a nice neighborhood with somewhat quiet streets and nice neat little houses with nice, manicured little yards. Now we will zoom in on one house in particular. This house is a small red-brick one with a dark red door. As we look through the kitchen window, we will see a black woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, drinking a cup of tea while waiting for her toast to toast in the toaster. Just as she turned to get a jar of jelly from the refrigerator the toast began to burn and smoke began to float up from the faulty appliance. By the time that she finally turned back around with the jar in hand, the smoke was pouring from the malfunctioning toaster. She gasped and ran to the dishrack to grab something that would pull the burning bread from the toaster. She grabbed a fork and used it to pry the now charcoal out. But as soon as the wet metal touched the still plugged in toaster…ZZZZZZZ. LaBertha Johnson got a jolt that would forever change her life.
It was her luck that Mrs. Snooker, her neighbor, walked in the back door.Read more