Pool_1

"Well...what was he saying?" "It's just a running of observations, no real preaching in there." "You dumb ass guinea wop. You don't know anything!"

"What?" nearly screaming over the now blasting Jimmy Hendricks pumped up by the cooks, who were probably not only into the Woodstock happening but into shock therapy. "He was reflecting... I said.. he was reflecting on a very important realization... not an easy one for a black man.." "The end of his youth thing?" Marcus broke in, "that black was not just a barrier but also a crutch? He.. uh.. damn that's loud.. those guys deaf? He felt that his growth - in Europe and Corsica - wherever else - I forget - wasn't tested... had to STINKING RETURN.. HEY GIVE US A BREAK HERE.. How loud does that shit have to be?" Jake and Mac got only the finger, with a big toothy cook grin. Jake brightened. "OK little brother." a curious address, "Good. he says, plain outright, that he lost his youth when he realized WHO he was and WHAT he was. It was a journey. You cool on this? It was a journey that, once begun, HAD to continue forward. He had to be - no - he WAS a writer, not a NEGRO, or a NEGRO writer, a writer, 'God, Satan and Mississippi notwithstanding', dig?" Marcus in a voice of queried offering, "What you are on the outside may belie or confound the knowing of what you really are, inside - innately? ...SHUT THAT GOD DAMNED NOISE DOWN. JESUS! Between that elevator bell ringing and stone deaf cooks, I'm going to go crazy here!" Marcus oathed. "No, my good little man. After tonight, you'll be gone."