I was finally able to explore both my politics and sexuality without being shunned like a leper at a dermatologist. Still, everyone wasn't so left-lea...ing. Due to being a hotbed of country music, racial tension still ran high. Rednecks even had a saying, "The only negro who doesn't have to hide, is one who starts for the Crimson Tide." One sunny fall day I spotted HER, Alana. A lovely black girl who would soon capture my heart.She was recruiting volunteers for a voter's rights protest march in. "Sarah, it's Margaret on the phone." Oh god, I don't want to speak to her now!" Sarah exclaimed, opening the door. Her face was red, and an agonised expression twisted her mouth."What shall I tell her? She knows you're here!" I protested."Oh ... oh bugger. I'll deal with it," said Sarah, pushing past me, crossly.I followed her back to the study. Sarah glowered as she picked up the receiver."Margaret?" She said, her voice a little wobbly.For the next five minutes I watched Sarah wilt and try to. Finally, Clarence told her, Yeah! Right!Vivie knew that decisions involving major offences such as murder and mutiny could go any way at all. Humans had to make this call. This time nudged and backstopped and second-guessed by an immature, self-righteous, bossy AI. Her actions would be evaluated and questioned, her motives guessed, but a crew that clearly backed her would be on the spot as well. She could not do or say anything that would precipitate a demonstration before or after her hearing. My wife Liz had been away on business all week and we’d been texting each other pictures every night and bringing each other off on the phone which as I’m sure you can imagine although bringing instant relief just served to build up the horn we’d both been developing all week. All day shopping with the kids we’d both been tactile with each other, kissing and cuddling, I’d made Liz wear her short tartan miniskirt and kept slipping my hand up her thigh when we were in the shops until she.