Feeling hungry, Bill walked into a random restaurant and immediately regretted his decision.
"Yo, what you want, whitey?" the clerk behind the counter called. Hesitantly, Bill walked over. The clerk, a young black man, took a closer look at him.
"Ah, sorry, I didn't see you a mixed brutha," he said.
"What did you call me?" For the moment, Bill forgot all about Tim and what had just happened. The clerk was taken aback.
"You got some black blood, right? What, a quarter? Niggaz in da woodpile right?"
Bill was outraged."I am _not_ your brother, 'nigga'," he said vehemently. Immediately he realized what he had just done. His nasal passages cracked and popped opened up as his nose widened further, while his lips swelled enough that he could just see them at the bottom of his vision. They felt heavy. A tingling feeling announced the fact that his hair was curling up tighter, the sensation not only on his head, but also under his arms and around his penis, which seemed to be growing as well, testified by the tightening of his pants there and around his now-pronounced backside. He raised his hand to see his tan deepening beyond the possibilities of a tan, while the golden hairs on the back of his hand pulled in and disappeared, leaving smooth, brown skin.
The clerk watched all of this in amazement, but he hadn't forgotten what Bill had just said. "Say that again," he challenged the surprised, now mulatto man standing in front of the counter.