She brushed her hair, watching her hazel eyes, her wide lips, and her creamy dark complexion. The card lay on the vanity: John P. Fletcher. She put on the white dress she had laid out on her bed. She opened her purse, slid in the compact Ruger, silver with a black handgrip, and walked slowly to the corner . . .
My rusted Pontiac bounced from pothole to pothole and swung into the factory lot. Another overcast day, all dirty snow and no sun. In Northeast Ohio, pessimism is the great common denominator—hoping for sunshine on a winter’s day is as fruitless as wishing upon a star, expecting a quiet lunch break, or rooting for the Browns . . .
Featured: Black Interest
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- Frederick Douglass in Brooklyn
- Changers Book Two: Oryon
- The Gospel According to Cane
- You Throw Like a Girl: The Blind Spot of Masculinity
- On the Way Back
- Sale The Bernice L. McFadden Collection
- To Funk and Die in LA
- The System of Dante’s Hell
- Hadriana in All My Dreams