HOMEWORK—LEVEL A: Down These Mean Streets, by Piri Thomas. Page 54
We split, everybody making it up some building. I felt bad they had made us split, but I kept running. I made it to number 109 and loped up the stairs. “Adios,” I yelled over my shoulder. “You ain’t got no heart!” I crashed through my apartment door with thanks that Momma had left it open, ‘cause two or three Jolly Rogers were beating the air inches behind me with stickball bats.
“Que pasa?” yelled Momma.
The Jolly Rogers outside were beating their stickball bats on the door for me to come out if I had any heart. I hollered to them, “I’m coming out right now, with my piece!” I didn’t have one, but I felt good-o satisfaction at hearing the cattle stampede down the stairs.
“What happened, muchacho?” Momma asked, in a shook-up voice.
I laughed. “Nothing, moms, we was just playing ring-a-livio”
“What about your nose, it got blood on it,” said Sis.
I looked bad at her. “Bumped it,” I said, then turning to Momma, I asked, “Say Moms, what’s for dinner? I’m starvin’.”
The next day I was back on the stoop, slinging sounds with my boys, yakking about everything we knew about and also what we didn’t, placing ideas on the common altar, splitting the successes and failures of all. That was the part of belonging, the good and bad; it was all for you.
Who is involved?
What is happening?
When did it happen?
Where did it happen?
Why did it happen?
HOMEWORK—LEVEL B: Down These Mean Streets, by Piri Thomas. Page 54
We split, everybody making it up some building. I felt bad they had made us split, but I kept running. I made it to number 109 and went up the stairs. “Adios,” I yelled over my shoulder. “You ain’t got no heart!” I crashed through my apartment door with thanks that Momma had left it open.
“Que pasa?” yelled Momma.
The Jolly Rogers outside were beating their stickball bats on the door for me to come out if I had any heart. I hollered to them, “I’m coming out right now, with my piece!” I didn’t have one, but I felt satisfaction at hearing them stampede down the stairs.
“What happened, muchacho?” Momma asked.
I laughed. “Nothing, moms, we was just playing.”
“What about your nose, it got blood on it,” said Sis.
“Bumped it,” I said. I asked, “Say Moms, what’s for dinner? I’m starvin’.”
The next day I was back on the stoop with my boys. That was the part of belonging, the good and bad; it was all for you.
Who is involved?
When did it happen?
Where did it happen?
HOMEWORK—LEVEL C: Down These Mean Streets, by Piri Thomas. Page 54
We split, everybody making it up some building. I felt bad they had made us split, but I kept running. I made it to number 109 and went up the stairs. I crashed through my apartment door with thanks that Momma had left it open.
“Que pasa?” yelled Momma.
The Jolly Rogers outside were beating their stickball bats on the door for me to come out.
“What happened, muchacho?” Momma asked.
I laughed. “Nothing, moms, we was just playing.”
“What about your nose, it got blood on it,” said Sis.
“Bumped it,” I said. I asked, “Say Moms, what’s for dinner? I’m starvin’.”
The next day I was back on the stoop with my boys.
Who is involved?
Where did it happen?
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