I was walking the dog the other day and hear what sounds like a car approaching playing loud music. But it wasn’t a car, it was burly Black dude on a bike, and the music he was blaring was a Classical symphony.

My first thought was, wow you don’t see that every day (busting myself for the thought). Then I remembered a story Resmaa Menakem tells in My Grandmother’s Hands. He tells of a Black man who habitually whistles Vivaldi when he’s out walking as a sonic signal to white folks he passes that he’s not dangerous.

I’m not assuming bicycle man isn’t just a Classical music fan. He may well be. But it’s also plausible he was announcing to my mostly white ultraliberal neighborhood that he comes in peace. A quotidian reminder of the pervasive damage white supremacy culture does to Black bodies.

It really is everywhere when you start to look.