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“He never had a chance even with his brown black black brown arms up in the air. Unarmed. Undone. Was it the color or something else? We can only guess why bullets fly from guns in white hands into brown black, black brown, brown black brown painting streets red.” — Shirani Rajapakse
He never
had a chance
even with his brown black
black brown arms
up in the air.
Unarmed.
Undone. Was it the color
or something else? We can only guess
why bullets fly from guns in white hands into
brown black,
black brown,
brown black brown
painting streets red.