We never much care about skin, like the Americans.
Where we’re from, everyone has the same color, so we must fight over shades. You see, my brother had light hair and beard. Me dark, like you. I was like the black man over there. As against my brother, the white. Everybody thought he must be the good one. Yeah. So I became me. But time passes. Now I’m gray. Yeah, he too, I– I believe, now is gray. So you wouldn’t be able to tell who is light, who is dark. So much for fighting over color. American Gods: The Secret of Spoon