"Listen for the true rhythm beneath all things," said the garden snail, "at times it is as profound as first love, other times as subtle as a passing thought."

Joe was driving down the road, with no particular place to go when he spotted Rayfield, an old friend and workmate, walking on the side of the road. Joe pulled over. Rayfield paused for a moment trying to figure out what this white guy might want. He recognized Joe's car, then the driver, and got in the passenger side. Joe drove a bit, then pulled over. They caught up, relived past hijinks, shared this and that. Rayfield told Joe that he had taken a construction job after he had been fired from their mutual employer. It was grunt work, but the pay was better than that of a dishwasher. 

After talking for awhile, Rayfield became more quiet and pensive. Looking straight ahead he asked, "You remember the fight we had?"

Rayfield did remember. It was a sad memory. A memory of a fight, caused primarily from the inequality of their job positions.

"Well," said Rayfield, still staring straight out toward the road, "that wasn't nothing but a thang."