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just ran down to me that the people who came to America back in the day messed over the people already living here,” I said. “And I know all about slavery, and I know no brothers from Africa signed a contract saying they didn’t want to be free.”
    â€œIt must be the aroma from the collard greens,” Elijah said, “because your thinking is getting clearer and clearer.”
    â€œYo, and let me run down something else,” I said. “Say you have a thousand dudes living on an island, right?”
    â€œGo on,” Elijah said.
    â€œAnd they’re happy with their little social contract, and all of them are getting the same amount of food to eat, and the same television channels, and the same amount of minutes on their cell phones, okay?”
    â€œGo on, Mr. DuPree.”
    â€œI think there would still be a problem,” I said. “Because sooner or later one of those people would figure out that he could live a little better than the others if he could find a way to take somebody else’s food or snatch up their cell phone minutes. That’s the way people are!”
    â€œThat’s true, Mr. DuPree,” Elijah said. “So we need to watch each other very closely. When we elect a government, we need to watch that government very closely and know exactly how it’s supposed to be working. You don’t enter a contract with your eyes closed.”
    â€œI don’t know if this social contract business is good or bad,” I said.
    â€œYou’ll make up your mind sooner or later,” Elijah said. “Sooner or later.”
    I knew I would if he had anything to do with it.
    We served the soup, and I listened as Miss Watkins told about how her husband had been wounded in the Second World War and Mr. Pickens said he had been drafted to go to Korea but got out of it because he had a bad eye.
    â€œYou should have served your country,” Miss Watkins said. “And you should have been proud to do it!”
    Miss Watkins was a feisty old lady and I liked her. In fact, I liked most of the seniors who came to Elijah’s. What I thought was that they liked Elijah and felt good being there. I was feeling good about being there myself.

5
    I met up with Terrell and we walked down to Morningside Park to play some ball. We got into a few games and got creamed. Terrell’s game was never that good, but somehow he was getting worse. He was almost as tall as me, and I thought he was getting out of shape.
    â€œWe should have won that last game,” Terrell said as we turned up my block.
    â€œWe would have won if you passed the ball once in a while,” I said. “You were shooting with two and three guys hanging on your arm.”
    â€œYo, man, I was in the zone!”
    â€œIn the zone?” I watched as Terrell went up for an imaginary jump shot. “You weren’t even in the right zip code!”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Terrell said. “I had to hurry my shots because you weren’t getting any rebounds.”
    â€œI don’t even see how that works together,” I said, wondering how my rebounding made him hurry his shots.
    â€œHey, check this out!” Terrell lowered his voice. “Ain’t that D-Boy across the street?”
    I looked across the street and saw D-Boy sitting on a stoop. He had his do-rag down across his forehead, almost to his shades. I looked at my side of the street and saw Sly standing on my stoop.
    Everybody knew Sly and nobody knew Sly. He was around the hood a lot and rode in a fantastic machine, and D-Boy was his bodyguard. Some people thought he was into drugs and some said he was part of the black mafia. Everybody gave the dude his propers and nobody moved up on him too quick. He had known my father and had sent flowers to the funeral.
    â€œDon’t say nothing stupid,” I said to Terrell.
    â€œI’m not,” Terrell said, voice low, eyes getting big. “I heard that