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A history of the first African American White House—and of what came next. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby. It was late October, Friday the 21st, and the president had spent many of the previous weeks, as he would spend the two subsequent weeks, campaigning for the Democratic presidential nominee, Hillary Clinton. Things were looking up.

By Tari Ngangura. To be fair, this perspective on Sex and the City is all in hindsight and also came with age. I liked Sex and the City when I was younger. I might have even loved it. These women offered me a fun and dreamy escape from my dreary reality of puberty, growing pains and unrequited school yard love affairs. But after all this time, that love has now turned to loathing.

This summer I went through my very first breakup. I recapped the entire thing to my friend over a hysterical video chat, beginning with the arguing, leading up to the Tinder notification, and ending with the discovery of another woman's nudes in his deleted iCloud folder. My friend's very first question, amidst my tears and freshly packed suitcases was, "Was she Black? Trying so hard to delete the memory of the mysterious woman in the photo from my mind, I didn't at all question why our races mattered, or why my white friend felt so compelled to ask. Her race did not once cross my mind, but rather how the man I loved had his arms wrapped lovingly around a woman who was not me.

Since 1 it was on a school day, 2 they were carrying book bags, and 3 they seemed to be in no hurry, I assumed they were skipping school. They were extremely loud and unruly, tossing food at one another and leaving it on the floor. After repeatedly warning the boys to stop throwing food and keep quiet, the manager finally told them to leave. The kids ignored her.