Crack of Thunder and Martin Luther King Jr.
The young man leaned against the rail with both hands, a cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. I wonder how long he was planing to stay at the dinky two-story hotel. His eyes squinted and lips pursed as he pondered the future of his people. I wonder if he was preparing his next speech. An advocate and a leader. I wonder if he thought so. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth, and breaths the tobacco and smoke into his lungs, blows out, and watches the smoke curl around itself in the air. I wonder when he started smoking. He strokes his black mustache with his hand, his eyes still squinted. I wonder if he knows. A crack of thunder rings out on a sunny day. He surly knows now. Hundreds of lives drastically changed by a simple crack of thunder. Despite anything, he will always have a dream.
Well, I could say, that I have a dream, that one day you will wonder too.
