The group of white teenagers stood around the otherwise empty gas station parking lot, their mouths still agape. Watching the unthinkable has that effect.
It happened in seemingly slow motion: the man – young, black – just strode over to the fountain and took a generous sip of water. Even though the sign was clear. Even though it said in big block letters: “Whites Only.”
Did this stranger not notice? Or, more worrying, did he not care?
But now came the real question… who would use it next?
The boys were dirty, sweaty, and parched themselves.
But just how thirsty were they?
The Weekday One Hundred 