In a college dorm, in a prison, in a marriage
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“No more sheiks in this desert, man.” The dark-skinned, bearded one laughed half-heartedly through a mouthful of smiling teeth. “Not one of them bastards left now. Toke?”
Summer in College Town. At 7:30 a.m. eating a bagel with cream cheese at Out To Lunch they discuss getting married. At 5:30 p.m. the same day they are in a lawyer’s office in Raleigh writing their marriage contract.
It came as no shock as I looked at the paper that our noble Leaders declared our Nation’s economic plight. Vaguely, I understood the declarations after earnestly seeking employment for the past two years, though never in Cincinnati. Maybe my first clue was the infinite numbers who trod the highways from nowhere to anywhere searching for a friendly face and a pot of somewhere beans on the side of the road.
They had a small frame house with ceilings a little higher than six feet, several outbuildings, and some rich, tillable acres of earth. They had bought the farm and the farm life — a life of working all day. For them, it was a small price to pay, such is their love for the land and the life they lead.
News item: North Carolina is listed as one of the states where the food stamp program is underused. Social workers say they can’t seem to interest eligible families to come in and sign up.
Three A.M. on East Franklin Street and there were just these three things moving. A battered green one-ton pickup truck with a hanging muffler and two kids from New Jersey; an old guy who told them how to get to Manns Chapel Road; and the cop car that made a quick u-turn and followed them out of town.