"I smiled, imagining Whitney wearing a Hooters top. "Oh, what do you want to write about?" It's complicated." Whitney took a sip of her water. "I want...to write a novel about a black man growing up in a poor neighborhood that succeeds in spite of the odds against him." Oh, a fantasy," I quipped.Whitney gave me a dirty look, and suddenly looked sad."What's the matter?" I asked."I've been studying the black community for a couple of years, and you're right, it is a fantasy for most black men." A. “It’s getting late. Who wants to leave first?” LeeAnn volunteered, “I can go first.” Mandi instructed, “You gotta talk to someone. Don’t just leave.”“Like who,” she asked.“I’d suggest going into the lobby and hanging out for a minute or two. They’ll come to you,” offered Sylvie.“Exactly,” said Mandi.LeeAnn walked away being watched by much of the room. On the way out the door, she tripped. Mandi saw it happen. She was terrified. The guy watching the door, Combs, leapt to his feet and. More

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