folks to read it either. That's why Snowden
never felt embarrassed by how bad it was, or guilty at taking pleasure reading it aloud. Snowden felt confident in the assumption
that no one else was listening.
The walk to the New Holland Herald ' became eventful once the two came in sight of the new Disney Store on 125th and Frederick Douglass. The state of righteousness
Bobby'd been stuck in for weeks, Snowden knew it would set him off, but since the paper's office was on the other corner,
it was unavoidable. In preparation, Snowden had attempted to ensnare Bobby into the more nuanced debate about the corruption
allegations involving the Apollo, the other landmark they were passing, but the smaller man would have none of it.
"Fucking bloodsuckers. Fucking mind-numbing smiley-faced Jim Jones Kool-Aid bloodsuckers up here to siphon what little money
we have with their poison blankets shaped like plush corporate logos," Bobby started chanting. Snowden found the worst part
of talking to Bobby when he got like this was that Bobby would take Snowden's own opinions but become so froth-mouthed fanatical
that Snowden felt forced to claim the opposition for the sake of keeping the discussion in the realm of sanity.
"Well, they've provided some jobs up here, and it looks good for the one-two-five, as far as attracting investment," Snowden
said and immediately resented Bobby for this, for making him defend the mouse.
"Right, like six jobs at eight dollars an hour. Up, you mighty race!" It was amazing how he could do that, hyperventilate
and talk at the same time. Several women paused with their bags in front of Lane Bryant and McDonald's Express to take in
the licorice blur vibrating past them, his voice modulating with each word between stage whisper and scream. Snowden was waiting
for somebody to offer a wallet to stick in Bobby's mouth so he didn't bite his tongue off, "Goddamn leeches, riding up in
their Trojan horse to suck the green right of the place, then they'll go back to Anaheim and do a Pocahontas on Sally Hemings, turn that into a love story too."
"It will attract people to Harlem. That's the point of what we're doing, right?"
"It attracts white people to Harlem. That's the point of it. It says, 'Look, no broken windows, the canary's alive and well.'
Then they take over the last bit of the island that they're not in the majority. That's the plan. We'll all get pushed to
Newark and they'll get this back again, and to them it will just be a loaded name and a bunch of cool brownstones. They'll
even open some jazz theme clubs to remember us by, like they do with fake villages on the lands they got from the Indians."
Snowden said, "Healthy canaries are a good thing. They send the message that the air's all safe to breathe," but nothing more.
Snowden took the talk of race as a sign to shut up and just keep walking. Snowden always took the talk of race as a sign to
shut up and keep walking because he'd never figured out how to discuss the subject without stating the obvious, sounding bitter,
or like a sellout, doomed however he approached it. Talking about race was like trying to have a serious argument about the
existence of the Easter Bunny: No matter what position you took, you always ended up sounding either thick or mildly insane.
By the time they reached the office of the New Holland Herald, Bobby was so worked up that he was forced to lean against the wall of the abandoned building next to it in order to regain
his composure.
"I should burn that bastard down," Bobby wheezed. "It would probably take out most of Harlem USA with it but, you know, 'by
any means necessary.'" He tried to light a cigarette but was breathing too hard and ended up in a coughing fit, limply cursing
the class warfare of the tobacco companies as he put it out against his foot, pocketing the filter so as not to litter. Inside,
the two men parted when Bobby was directed to the offices upstairs and
never felt embarrassed by how bad it was, or guilty at taking pleasure reading it aloud. Snowden felt confident in the assumption
that no one else was listening.
The walk to the New Holland Herald ' became eventful once the two came in sight of the new Disney Store on 125th and Frederick Douglass. The state of righteousness
Bobby'd been stuck in for weeks, Snowden knew it would set him off, but since the paper's office was on the other corner,
it was unavoidable. In preparation, Snowden had attempted to ensnare Bobby into the more nuanced debate about the corruption
allegations involving the Apollo, the other landmark they were passing, but the smaller man would have none of it.
"Fucking bloodsuckers. Fucking mind-numbing smiley-faced Jim Jones Kool-Aid bloodsuckers up here to siphon what little money
we have with their poison blankets shaped like plush corporate logos," Bobby started chanting. Snowden found the worst part
of talking to Bobby when he got like this was that Bobby would take Snowden's own opinions but become so froth-mouthed fanatical
that Snowden felt forced to claim the opposition for the sake of keeping the discussion in the realm of sanity.
"Well, they've provided some jobs up here, and it looks good for the one-two-five, as far as attracting investment," Snowden
said and immediately resented Bobby for this, for making him defend the mouse.
"Right, like six jobs at eight dollars an hour. Up, you mighty race!" It was amazing how he could do that, hyperventilate
and talk at the same time. Several women paused with their bags in front of Lane Bryant and McDonald's Express to take in
the licorice blur vibrating past them, his voice modulating with each word between stage whisper and scream. Snowden was waiting
for somebody to offer a wallet to stick in Bobby's mouth so he didn't bite his tongue off, "Goddamn leeches, riding up in
their Trojan horse to suck the green right of the place, then they'll go back to Anaheim and do a Pocahontas on Sally Hemings, turn that into a love story too."
"It will attract people to Harlem. That's the point of what we're doing, right?"
"It attracts white people to Harlem. That's the point of it. It says, 'Look, no broken windows, the canary's alive and well.'
Then they take over the last bit of the island that they're not in the majority. That's the plan. We'll all get pushed to
Newark and they'll get this back again, and to them it will just be a loaded name and a bunch of cool brownstones. They'll
even open some jazz theme clubs to remember us by, like they do with fake villages on the lands they got from the Indians."
Snowden said, "Healthy canaries are a good thing. They send the message that the air's all safe to breathe," but nothing more.
Snowden took the talk of race as a sign to shut up and just keep walking. Snowden always took the talk of race as a sign to
shut up and keep walking because he'd never figured out how to discuss the subject without stating the obvious, sounding bitter,
or like a sellout, doomed however he approached it. Talking about race was like trying to have a serious argument about the
existence of the Easter Bunny: No matter what position you took, you always ended up sounding either thick or mildly insane.
By the time they reached the office of the New Holland Herald, Bobby was so worked up that he was forced to lean against the wall of the abandoned building next to it in order to regain
his composure.
"I should burn that bastard down," Bobby wheezed. "It would probably take out most of Harlem USA with it but, you know, 'by
any means necessary.'" He tried to light a cigarette but was breathing too hard and ended up in a coughing fit, limply cursing
the class warfare of the tobacco companies as he put it out against his foot, pocketing the filter so as not to litter. Inside,
the two men parted when Bobby was directed to the offices upstairs and
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