When we first met at the Augusta Savage retrospective, his peaceful vibe and chill really impressed me. And during the Q&A, I loved how he weighed things before he spoke. We loved the same authors and frequented the same food joints. He knew where to get the best mac and cheese, and I introduced him to the spot with the best salmon croquettes.

And I loved that he needs soul music in the morning like most people need coffee—especially Donny Hathaway.

But what really drew me to him was his brilliant smile. He gave a whole new meaning to “tall, dark, and handsome.” He delighted in the little things, like homemade ice cream and taking the long way home. And, like most artists, he’s obsessed with art. His chosen medium was clay, but he was good with all sorts of materials, including woodwork. His day job as an accountant helped pay his bills, but every moment he could spare was spent sculpting.

Last year, he started accounting at a local firm. He was the only Black accountant. He liked to joke that he preferred his racism straight up, but in corporate America, they served it on the rocks. And as it turns out, watered-down, subtle racism is just as bitter. Sometimes those white folks are so subtle with it that Akin wonders if he’s imagining it. He isn’t. They’re racist as hell at his firm.

On his first day of work, the security guard only asked him for ID, whereas the other newcomers just went right into the building. The company sent out a memo on “appropriate attire” after he wore a kente cloth tie. In staff meetings, his boss would tell him just how glad he was to have someone so “articulate” on his team. They’d ask him to explain the actions of the latest rapper or Black celebrity, as if Black folks held a meeting once a week to consult with each other.

It seems like little things, but it wasn’t to Akin. I think each cut—however slight—began to fester. What made it worse is that after a few months on the job, the staff started to get really comfortable with him. It’s never good when white folks get comfortable with us. It means they are about to open their mouths and start some mess.

He was at an office Christmas party and a coworker came up to him, drink in hand, and said, “Can I ask you something? I mean, I think I can because we’re bros—so, what’s up with the saggy pants and the gold-tooth thing?”

Racism is the hydrochloric acid rain that Black folks scramble to get out of any way we can. Some do the “good Negro” two-step: they never make waves, don’t raise their voice, and pretend not to know which member of Wu-Tang is which.