Obviously, Marion was not alone. He signed onto the lease a while back, and packed his livelihood into a ten-step bedroom. The same day, Moses gifted his new neighbor a bottle of Budweiser and extended his heavy black hand.
“Morning,” the man said.
Marion gave him the shake and nodded dutifully. “Hey.”
“Thought I’d say we’re sharing the kitchen.”
“That’s fine. Want to come sit?”
“Not at all,” Moses said, “I got to catch my Panthers tonight.”
“That’s a late game.”
“Yes it is.”
Those were the last words Marion had with his neighbor for weeks. Moses kept irregular hours during the day, and there were some nights he didn’t sleep at all. For days at a time, Moses locked himself in that little room across from the kitchen in complete silence.
A few months later, Marion found Moses at the kitchen table with a mess of scrambled eggs and greasy bacon. Instead of eating, he held a handheld radio against his ear. Some authoritative voice spoke through the box, and Moses made regular notes in a heavy b…
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