Christmas Day came and went. Plum pudding, goose, just us. No one from the neighborhood. No one Debt is willing to know is willing to know me. I believe that the count in the community is he has gone to crazy. When Debt got up from the table to go into Lady's old office, a room I am changing into a library of sorts, I asked Miss Priss and her parents to join me. Garlic carved from the joint and we all ate well.
Today is New Year's Day. I am too tired to write most of the time. Downstairs they're cooking black-eye peas. It supposed to bring good luck. I'm not eating any black-eye peas. Nothing no black people are doing in any large number is bringing good luck to anybody. We ain't got no good luck. I won't eat any black-eye peas. Maybe I'll eat the greens, though. Garlic eats greens every first of the year, and in a way he is a rich man. Maybe the greens work, less folks do it. Maybe it works; some of us are getting over.
This place, every inch of it, feels like a tomb. I can't wait to get back to Atlanta.