I’m walking home from the library. A young black man follows me carrying a bag.
It’s dark. I cross to the other side of the street next to the basketball court. From there, a group of young black men yell out at the young man, “Why You Trying To Look Like A Schoolboy, Nigger?”
He keeps silent and skulks on.
I look at him differently. So that bag was filled with books? I guess we have a lot in common. We could hang. Man, I had no idea of the pressure you were under from your friends. Books are life, man. They are a tree of life to those who hold them close.