His face was as close to
mine as a pitcher talking to his catcher on the mound through his glove. He’d shown
up out of nowhere yesterday. He was African American maybe 50, and he only stopped long
enough to point to my sign and say in a dramatic whisper. ‘They won’t do what
your sign says. They don’t want them to read. If they read, they’d revolt.’
Saturday, June 23, 2018
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