6/24/2023 0 Comments A red death by walter mosleyThe nightcoat was stretched taut across her chest. She opened the door and draped her emaciated body against the jamb. "Poinsettia," I replied, then I turned quickly away as if my sweeping might escape if I didn't move to catch it. The open door let the stink of incense from her prayer altar flow out across my newly swept hall. She was a natural tenor but she screwed her voice higher to make me feel sorry for her.Īll I felt was sick. "Hi, Easy," she drawled in the saddest high voice. She was a tall young woman with yellowish eyes and thick, slack lips. The doorknob to Apartment J jiggled and the door came open showing Poinsettia Jackson's sallow, sorry face. I wasn't the only one to hear the Pontiac. I had money and the law on my mind, and Mofass was the only man I knew who might be able to set me straight. I knew that Mofass collected the late rent on the second Thursday of the month that's why I chose that particular Thursday to clean. Trajillo, who always sat at her window on the first floor?best burglar alarm you could have. I heard his door slam and his loud hello to Mrs. I knew it was him because there was something wrong with the transmission, you could hear its high singing from a block away. I had just gathered the dirt into a neat pile when I heard Mofass drive up in his new '53 Pontiac. It was a three-story pink stucco building between Ninety-first Street and Ninety-first Place, just about a mile outside of Watts proper. I always started sweeping on the top floor of the Magnolia Street apartments.
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