Read Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do for Free Online

particular destination in mind and just walked around for a while. I wasn't nervous. I've been living in the black community all my life, and I'm very much attuned to its specific pleasures and equally specific dangers. One of the first things my mother taught me was how to tell the difference between hostile and crazy . This is an important distinction in all black environments since the insanity of American racism is too much for some black folks to handle, and we will go off , but in different ways and with different consequences for those who find themselves in close proximity at the moment of madness.
    It is important to know, for example, that the guy who quotes Scripture at the top of his lungs is startling, but probably not dangerous like the steely-eyed shadow boxer who never says a word and squints at each person he passes as if deciding whether or not to throw a punch in his direction. The only ones who really scare me are the young hoodlums who claim as many corners as they can hold, sell as much as they can of whatever drugs we're buying, and make the streets a minefield not easily negotiated by the faint of heart.
    Last time I drove through here four or five years ago after a late-night meeting on the campus, there were hardeyed young predators on every corner, and I locked my doors for fear of being carjacked before I could get back on the freeway. This time it didn't feel dangerous at all. It just felt alive .
    I stopped for the light before crossing onto Ralph D. Abernathy Boulevard and looked around. The rapid transit station nearby was receiving and disgorging passengers who seemed to be a mix of students, young mothers, and working people. The presence of dreadlocked T-shirt and incense vendors, all hawking their wares with great enthusiasm and equal charm, gave the street the feel of a busy third-world market. The absence of aggressive panhandlers or dope fiends asking for spare change was a pleasant surprise.
    There were, in fact, no bug-eyed addicts or angry beggars at this busy intersection. Only three young brothers in dark suits and bow ties offering Muhammad Speaks or bean pies, depending on whether you were looking to feed your head or your face.
    The mall across the street was a bustling beehive of activity with people moving in and out in a constant stream. The Krispy Kreme doughnut shop was flashing a sign for “Hot Doughnuts,” and people in business suits, baggy blue jeans, and all manner of apparel in between were coming out with the long, flat box that meant they had just bought a dozen.
    I turned down Abernathy, the area's main commercial strip, and kept walking. After the Krispy Kreme, I passed two men's clothing shops, a barbershop, an African import bazaar where you could also get your braids done, and a tiny Chinese take-out place. The West End News was nestled between a flower shop displaying a huge arrangement of birds-of-paradise that would have driven Aunt Abbie crazy, and a twenty-four-hour beauty salon that claimed expertise in touch-ups, blow-outs, wraps, perms, braids, waves, and weaves.
    The windows of the newsstand were frosted so you couldn't see inside from the street, but next door I could see a few sisters in various stages of the hairdo process. One was under the dryer with her eyes closed and a peaceful look on her face. One was being combed out by her stylist, and two others were waiting patiently for their turns under those little heated caps that put the hot in hot-oil treatment.
    I had never seen a twenty-four-hour beauty salon, and while it seemed like a moneymaking idea, I wondered if the women didn't get nervous leaving at four o'clock in the morning and walking to their cars all alone. On the other hand, if they felt safe enough to do that, maybe these days this neighborhood was the peaceful haven I had been led to believe it was.
    Running off of Abernathy were a series of quiet, treelined streets, some with lovingly restored Victorian homes, some with