by Marc Parker
Waiting for the Interstate line downtown, I'm flipping through this notebook when one of two women also waiting calls out, "Hey . . . hey! . . . White boy." I look at her. "What time does the bus come?" I tell her five minutes.
I hear her friend indistinctly, admonishing. "What?" the woman says, "he is a white boy." Her friend reacts, so she tells me, "You can call me, hey, Indian."
I tell her that I'm Indian, too. One-sixteenth to be exact. But they don't really get what I'm saying.
The bus comes and I go to the back. The Native American women take two handicap seats and start fucking with passengers up front.
Originally from Oklahoma, longtime zinester Marc Parker has a knack for living in the zine capitol of the USA, residing in San Francisco, California in the 1990s and now in Portland, Oregon. The above story is an excerpt from the first issue of his new perzine Kimosabe. The second issue is out now, available for $1 cash or stamps from 2000 NE 42 AVE #221, Portland, OR 97213 USA. When he feels rowdy, he is also the Zine Thug. He can be reached electronically courtesy of azmacourt (whereit'sat) yahoo.com.