There was that one time I almost got into a fight at the club in Aspen with the tall white guy because he said something to you in a threatening way, and I didn’t like the way he said it, and I wasn’t a fan of the large hat he was wearing or the way his face looked and the way he thought he could defend the girl he was with by talking angrily at a woman on the dance floor who was pushed by the woman he was with, and how the unchecked privilege of the people in that club, at that moment, was spilling over onto the mother of my children and I looked at you and knew that you were about to start swinging at the tall white man with a goofy hat and that I was the one that needed to be in that fight, and then I was there, looking at the man in his eyes and telling him to turn the fuck around because I weigh over 250 pounds and with that comes a different kind of privilege, and that kind is the kind of privilege where I know I can kill a grown man with my hands, and threaten to do it in a dance club in Aspen, a city where it seems necessary to, every so often, impossibly threaten death on another human.
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