Solace, smoke and pork skins.
Merry smelled all three the first moment she stepped foot into the pool hall. It was the middle of the day, yet the joint on Dexter and Davison was bustling with working Colored men in uniform. Factory slaves on their way to or just getting off work, lined the bar, chomping on pork skins and slopping down beers and something harder. And the rest, cigarettes dangling from their full lips, laughed and joked and played pool for money. The amount, like a Colored man’s opinion, didn’t matter. Bets could range from a nickle to a fool’s whole paycheck and nobody cared either way. Because the game wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about the fact that they were Colored men, it was 1949 and they could play pool with each other. In peace.
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