“You can’t cry about it,” he tells Anita and me one day over lunch at Ms. Biscuit, a soul-food restaurant a few miles east of Thomas’s home. “I’ve seen people go crazy because of all the violence they seen. People lose their mind. They don’t care ’bout nothing. But I’m stronger than that. I ain’t gonna let it break me down. I don’t let that stuff get to me. I think about it, but I don’t let it get to me.” He pauses. “I be thinking about a lot of crazy stuff, about revenge.” He’s talking more than usual, and neither Anita or I want to interrupt. And then, as an afterthought, almost to convince
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