“You seem nervous. Why are you nervous?”
“I’m nervous because you separated me from my family. I’m nervous because your partner is hovering over them. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there have been a lot of high profile incidents of police killing black people in the last few months. And you partner has his hand resting on his belt, near his pistol. So yes, I’m nervous.”
That’s what I thought. That’s what I wanted to say. But the angels of discretion (or perhaps those of cowardice) kept me quiet.
“No, I’m not nervous.”