The Bird: Chapter Seventy Four

 It was night. The silvery sort that held in it more moonlight than darkness, that was more indigo than it was soot. Ayo hung at the corner, his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. Like every other night, he watched the people passing with an intensity that was to be expected of him. You did not slack off when you were working hours as a corner boy. One moment slackin’ could cost you your head in the streets, he used to hear grownups say when he was littler. One moment was all it took.

So Ayo kept a good grip on his piece and stayed on the look out for trouble. For him, trouble could show up in the bodies of two white officers in a car, wanting to know what a boy his age was doing on the streets at that time of the day. It could show up in the bodies of other trigger-eager black boys, with clothes just like his—a concealing hoodie, loose jeans and good sneakers for running—and staged swagger, just like his. Trouble sometimes showed up coiled tight in
Continue to read this book on the App

Related Chapters

Latest Chapter