Strega
“A happy kid despite the sentence he was just starting. Not state–raised—he didn't know how to act. Virgil and I were standing in the shadow of the wall, waiting for some of our customers who had miscalculated the results of the World Series. Bobby walked in our direction, but he was cut off at the pass by a group of blacks. They started some conversation we couldn't hear, but we knew the words. Virgil shook his head sadly—the stupid kid even let a couple of the blacks walk around behind him. It... was every new kid's problem—they test you quick and there's only one right answer. The next time he hit the yard he'd better be packing a shank—or spend the rest of his bit on his knees.The whole yard was watching, but the kid couldn't know that. "Take my back," said Virgil, and started over to the group. Virgil was a fool—he didn't belong in prison.Virgil strolled over to the group, taking slow, deliberate strides, not in a hurry, keeping his hands where you could see them. I was two steps behind—he was my partner."Hey, homeboy!" Virgil shouted out.MoreLess
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