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Need to buy a hookah link Source global Wall Street Journal     time 2021-09-22 15:52:36
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There was the knocking at the door. Sammy, lying on his bed in pajamas and a bathrobe, called"Who?"When West Indian Archie answered, Sammy slid the round, two-sided shaving mirror under the bed,with what little of the cocaine powder-or crystals, actually-was left, and I opened the door.

  Muhammad's power to reform black men's lives. From the time I entered prison until I married, abouttwelve years later, because of Mr. Muhammad's influence upon me, I had never touched a woman.

  Then, holding my gun in his hand, he signaled. And out from where they had been concealed walkedtwo other detectives. They'd had me covered. One false move, I'd have been dead.

  "But you got to get a whole lot faster. You can't waste time!" Freddie showed me how fast on my ownshoes. Then, because business was tapering off, he had time to give me a demonstration of how tomake the shine rag pop like a firecracker. "Dig the action?" he asked. He did it in slow motion. I gotdown and tried it on his shoes. I had the principle of it. "Just got to do it faster," Freddie said. "It's ajive noise, that's all. Cats tip better, they figure you're knocking yourself out!"By the end of the dance, Freddie had let me shine the shoes of three or four stray drunks he talked intohaving shines, and I had practiced picking up my speed on Freddie's shoes until they looked likemirrors. After we had helped the janitors to clean up the ballroom after the dance, throwing out all thepaper and cigarette butts and empty liquor bottles, Freddie was nice enough to drive me all the wayhome to Ella's on the Hill in the secondhand maroon Buick he said he was going to trade in on hisCadillac. He talked to me all the way. "I guess it's all right if I tell you, pick up a couple of dozen packsof rubbers, two-bits apiece. You notice some of those cats that came up to me around the end of thedance? Well, when some have new chicks going right, they'll come asking you for rubbers. Charge adollar, generally you'll get an extra tip."He looked across at me. "Some hustles you're too new for. Cats will ask you for liquor, some will wantreefers. But you don't need to have nothing except rubbers-until you can dig who's a cop." "You can make ten, twelve dollars a dance for yourself if you work everything right," Freddie said,before I got out of me car in front of Ella's. "The main thing you got to remember is that everything inthe world is a hustle. So long, Red."The next time I ran into Freddie I was downtown one night a few weeks later. He was parked in hispearl-gray Cadillac, sharp as a tack, "cooling it.""Man, you sure schooled me!" I said, and he laughed; he knew what I meant. It hadn't taken me longon the job to find out that Freddie had done less shoeshining and towel-hustling than selling liquorand reefers, and putting white "Johns" in touch with Negro whores. I also learned that white girlsalways flocked to the Negro dances-some of them whores whose pimps brought them to mix businessand pleasure, others who came with their black boy friends, and some who came in alone, for a littlefreelance lusting among a plentiful availability of enthusiastic Negro men.

  White folks do not need anybody to remind them that they are men. We do! This was his oneincontrovertible benefit to his people.

  When I told Shorty, he said he'd known I'd soon outgrow it anyway.

  Certainly white people have served enough notice of their hostility to any blacks in their families andneighborhoods. And the way most Negroes feel today, a mixed couple probably finds that blackfamilies, black communities, are even more hostile than the white ones. So what's bound to face"integrated" marriages, except being unwelcomed, unwanted, "misfits" in whichever world they try tolive in? What we arrive at is that "integration," socially, is no good for either side. "Integration,"ultimately, would destroy the white race . . . and destroy the black race.

  I preferred the solitary that this behavior brought me. I would pace for hours like a caged leopard,viciously cursing aloud to myself. And my favorite targets were the Bible and God. But there was alegal limit to how much time one could be kept in solitary. Eventually, the men in the cellblock had aname for me: "Satan." Because of my antireligious attitude.


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