Seated at the table are the typical eclectic looking group of educated, bourgeoisie wannabe, brothas and sistas who are arguing, analyzing, and contemplating the organizing of a protest movement against an Arab-owned supermarket across the street that continuously sell bad hamburger meat. Jimmy the bartender tells me that these cats-some of whom are cantankerous college students, wannabe-poets, and "spoken word artists" that came with Gypsy-have been at it all night, always gathering at the same circled table to discuss everything from politics, neighborhood revitalization, socio-cultural criticism, and James Baldwin, to the New Black Panthers, the Nation of Islam, and the failure of black leadership. Jimmy calls us "Push Nevahda and the Vicious Circle." Me, Gypsy, BJ, Carmen and this new bitch I met on Black Planet named Melina. She's a mixed bitch from Rochester or Belleville who thinks that she's better than everybody else, especially other black folks, because she's educated and has white blood in her. The last time we were here I had to remind her fake ass that everybody sitting at the bar with me got degrees, she ain't the only one. Other friends come and go but we are basically what make up the crew.