James Baldwin and Ruth Bader Ginsburg are stuck in Abandoned Amusement Park Overnight and forced to have a deep conversation.

"This place, Justice Ginsburg, it’s a ghost of promises, much like the promises America makes to its black citizens, isn't it?" Baldwin observed, gesturing to a peeling carousel horse.

"Indeed, Mr. Baldwin, promises are only as good as the intention behind them and the effort to see them through; equal protection requires active enforcement, not passive allowance," Ginsburg replied, adjusting her glasses in the dim light.

"But how can we expect a system built on inequality to suddenly embrace equality? It's a fundamental contradiction," Baldwin questioned, his voice laced with a weary skepticism.

"We chip away at the edifice, brick by brick, precedent by precedent, until the foundation itself begins to crumble and a new one can be laid," Ginsburg countered, a steely resolve in her tone.

"And yet, the fear remains, doesn't it? Fear of the other, fear of losing power, fear of change," Baldwin mused, staring into the darkness.

"Fear is a powerful motivator, but so is the pursuit of justice, the yearning for a more perfect union, and that yearning, Mr. Baldwin, must be nurtured," Ginsburg insisted, her voice firm.

"Nurturing requires honesty, a brutal honesty about our past and present, something this nation seems incapable of," Baldwin sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Honesty is the bedrock upon which true progress is built, though it often requires uncomfortable truths to be acknowledged and addressed," Ginsburg conceded thoughtfully.

"So we continue to push, to argue, to demand, even when it feels like screaming into the void of this desolate park?" Baldwin asked, a hint of hope flickering in his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Baldwin, we continue, for the alternative is a silence that would condemn us all," Ginsburg affirmed, her gaze meeting his with unwavering determination.