Wrong Neighborhood

A thought provoking piece written by my friend Jonny out in Seattle.

J.W. Eberle

He pedaled down the alley. Alone. In the dark of night. A bag of groceries hung from one handlebar. Mostly crackers, jerky, eggs, a bottle of cheap bourbon. Music pumped through his headphones like water to a boiler. The sky above was a wash of pink-tinged clouds laden with snow. A few icy flakes drifted down into the streetlight beams. He pedaled on, undaunted by the cold. Every few revolutions he would sit up and shadow box, punching and jabbing the air as he coasted.

He was a cycling Muhammad Ali, going seven rounds with Sonny Liston. One left jab, two right jabs. One, one two. One, one two. He crossed a street where earlier he’d seen another black man rummaging through a house’s garbage can. Poor brother was probably looking for some half eaten food or some newspaper to line his coat with to ward off the bitter cold. It…

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