"I mean, I think Tarantino meant for it to be viewed as a single movie, you know?" I say to my downstairs neighbor out on the sidewalk.
"Absolutely," he replies. At that same moment a black woman walking down the street behind us suddenly begins shouting all these terrible, sexual things about herself, and the people around her.
Our conversation halts while she walks by, ranting the whole way, but when she's passed, I say, "You know, I was writing about this yesterday."
One year ago: I Asked That Same Question
Two years ago: Not Her Fault
Four years ago: Not Her Kind of Place