Two well-built young men. One had dark hair and the other sported freckles. The dark one wandered around the room, flipping through random books, looking, it seemed, for some kind of contraband. I was sitting in my favorite swivel chair behind the makeshift table-desk that I used for book sales and purchases. There was an eager grin on his face.
Library throws away thousands of books every year.
I removed a sheet of paper and handed it over slowly. The freckled and frowning cop used his left hand to take the letter from me. I was put out by the roust but not surprised. The police weren't used to a Negro in Watts going into business for himself. Most black migrants from the South usually got jobs for the city or did domestic work or day labor.