|Donut Revenge 1982 |
by Jean Michel Basquiat
I was homesick. I talked to my mom last week. She said when she goes to sleep at night she doesn’t know whether she would be able to get up in the morning or not. That made me extremely sad. The next evening when I called, she was in a baraat, a wedding procession, of a neighbor’s son. “I am sitting in a car. Many others are on foot, dancing to the music.” This made me even more miserable. I missed the band-baja-baraat.