Before the hour of this death, on October 31, Ubaldo leaned against a cement building for balance and he saw a small crescent of fur on the gravel, the rain already beating down. He walked to it, and discovered
“Are already at work. Blue. I’ll never know who started the lie that we are lazy, But I’d love to wake that bastard up At foreday in the morning, toss him in a truck, and drive him under God Past every bus stop in America to see all those black folk Waiting to go work for whatever they want. A house? A boy To keep the lawn cut? Some color in the yard? My God, we leave things green.”
― The Tradition
― The Tradition
Daniela’s 2025 Year in Books
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