“You know where the white folks live?” “Yeah,” Gus said, pointing eastward. “Over across the ‘line’; over there on Cottage Grove Avenue.” “Naw; they don’t,” Bigger said. “What you mean?” Gus asked, puzzled. “Then, where do they live?” Bigger doubled his fist and struck his solar plexus. “Right down here in my stomach,” he said. Gus looked at Bigger searchingly, then away, as though ashamed. “Yeah; I know what you mean,” he whispered. “Every time I think of’em, I feel ’em,” Bigger said. “Yeah; and in your chest and throat, too,” Gus said. “It’s like fire.” “And sometimes you can’t hardly
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