Abstract
I still remember where I was when I first heard about the murder of George Floyd in 2020. My husband walked into the kitchen where I was seated at the table working on my computer. He asked if I had heard about the man who had died under the knee of a police officer in Minnesota. Then, without warning, he showed me that viral video on his cell phone. It was the one and only time I would watch the entire thing. My previous lived experiences as a Black American had taught me that a single viewing was enough.
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