?I miss 'em too but Howard won't let me work at Bounty no mo'.?
?That ain't true an' you know it, boy. Me an' Howard an' Corina all talked to that vice principal. He said you got to buckle down if you wanna get good grades.?
Darryl bent down quickly and picked up a fistful of sand, which he threw into the water. Killer barked and lurched against Socrates' grip, looking for the ball he used to chase when he had four legs.
?Come on, boy,? Socrates said. ?Let's go on up and get you a chili dog.?
There was a big boarded-up building on the promenade. It was vacant but not abandoned. Men had been working on the inside changing it into some new business to sell trinkets or junk food at the beach. There was an unfinished pine plank blocking the main entrance. Socrates and Darryl sat on the step there eating their hot dogs and fries.
Pasted on the planking was a large yellow poster which was printed with bright red lettering.
It's War!
The racist and imperialist forces of Amerika are waging a war on you; a war in your schools, a war on your bodies and your minds. The poison in your food is chemical warfare. The lies in the schools are propaganda and nothing less.
Wake up! Wake up, Amerika! Don't let your children drown in the gutter. Don't let the so-called Democrats and their so-called free elections tell you what's on your mind. You got freedom on your mind. You got love on your mind. You got a good time with good neighbors on your mind.
They're using your money to kill in Rwanda, to kill in South Amerika, and right here in your own backyard. They put the blood in your hands but don't you drink it.
If there's a war you could win it. Just stand up and fight. Burn down the raggedy flags of the Man.
Rebel, Rebel
Socrates eyed the poster because of the bright red letters on the yellow paper. He looked closer at the texture of the paper than at the words. It was rough fabric plastered with thick glue onto the wall. There had been attempts to tear it away but the poster had resisted. Looking closer Socrates realized that the words were handwritten, each letter painstakingly rendered between faint pencil lines. It was then that Socrates felt something familiar about the poster. Not the words but the poster itself.
?So you like it?? Darryl asked.
?Like what??
?The produce job??
?Yeah. Yeah, I like it fine,? Socrates said. ?Work hard though. Harder'n motherfucker when Marty gets a bug in his ass. But I make some money though. A poor man might think I was rich.?
?You gonna move?? Darryl asked.
?I just barely got a phone, man. Gimme some time.?
?It's just that they got some good apartments out around here. You could come live out here if you wanted.? Darryl pulled his head back, indicating that it didn't matter one way or another if Socrates moved closer to him.
But Socrates knew better. He looked up at the poster again.
?Huh,? the big man grunted.
?What??
?I was just thinkin',? Socrates said. ?You wanna come stay out at my house tonight??
?Yeah,? the boy said without hesitation.
The next morning they were both up early. Killer was ready for a walk. They went down to Iula's house where they made pancakes and pork links for her.
?We figure that you cook every day, I,? Socrates told his weekend girlfriend. ?At least one day a year somebody should make a meal for you.?
Iula smiled and drank her coffee. She took only a bite of pancake, explaining that she never really ate until afternoon.
?But thank you for the meal, baby,? she said to the boy while smiling for the man. ?It's nice to be thought of any way you get it.?
