"So you know that song, Amazing Grace?" said Mr. Smith, an old man with grey tussles on his head. His a white man with a pale round face and eyes that smiles.

"Yea, what about it?" Harry answered. A thick African American linebacker.

"My mother use to sing it to me when there were days like this."

"Okay..." Harry rolled his eyes as if not to care.

"She would say, 'Georgie listen to this beautiful song.'" Then Mr. Smith began to sing.

As he sung Harry slumped down on the ground discouraged and began to wonder exactly what the man was trying to get at, exactly what moral was he trying to tell him.

'How sweet the song...' Mr. Smith sung it over and over again.

Harry snapped.

"You're a white man! You don't know anything about that! You're a stupid ignorant white man! You're mocking my culture. We sung that!" Harry yelled to Mr. Smith.

"You're so ignorant, boy. Anybody can sing a damn song." Mr. Smith laughed at him.

Harry took a razor out of his pocket and slashed him up. There was blood all over the walls in the elevator.

Twenty minutes later, a fireman came prying at the door. Harry looked into the fireman's eyes and said, "You all set me up."