‘You wait in line, you’re a fool, seriously. A brother don’t need a gate – he jumps the fence. That’s street.’ ‘Again, please?’ said Howard. ‘Street, street,’ bellowed Zora. ‘It’s like, “being street”, knowing the street – in Levi’s sad little world if you’re a Negro you have some kind of mysterious holy communion with sidewalks and corners.’ ‘Aw, man, shut up. You don’t know what the street looks like. You ain’t never been there.’ ‘What’s this?’ said Zora, pointing to the ground. ‘Marshmallow?’ ‘Please. This ain’t America. You think this is America? This is toy-town. I was born in this
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