Dear Carlton Banks, Chocolate child of the original Aunt Viv, you danced with fire at your fingertips and so they called you uncool. I am like you. Conventional rhythm has long eluded me. My grinding is robotic, disjointed where my hips meet my butt. I pop-lock when trying to Tootsie Roll. I was Miley Cyrus beforeContinue reading “Love Letter to Carlton Banks (a square)”