Although I wrote about this in the past, I went to find the post and found I had deleted it. Probably because of self-consciousness or not wanting to feel like I would be labeled crazy.The year was circa 1976, and I was a boy living in Gobass Projects with me, my Mom and multiple siblings. I had a small bedroom to myself. I’m afraid there isn’t much to the story, only to say it was pretty terrifying to a boy to have “night visitors”, and I can only recount what I experienced, what I felt and two related events that would follow years later. I’m learning not to judge myself too harshly, or to filter what I experience through what deemed socially acceptable to say. With my art, writing, then my experiences and perceptions.Granted, perceptions are not reality, but I often stop to wonder, given that time and place, how...