Richard Claxton Gregory was born on Columbus Day, 1932. A welfare case. You’ve seen him on every street corner in America. You knew he had rhythm by the way he snapped his cloth while he shined your shoes. Happy little black boy, the way he grinned and picked your quarter out of the air. Then he ran off and bought himself a Twinkie Cupcake, a bottle of Pepsi-Cola, and a pocketful of caramels.

You didn’t know that was his dinner. And you never followed him home.