Sharnell was a trashy, drawl-heavy kinda nigga, and he was a Crip. He got cornrows. So did Thumper, but Sharnell’s cornrows made him look like a mangy dog.
Sharnell Zane
Author: MNManmacker
Juniper Nightsky
Juniper was an Injun feller, slim and taut, his face angular and drawn tight. He got that staccato Injun accent, which always either set Zeke on alert or soothed him like a wild beast.
From Zeke the Cowboy
Marquez Ranch
The Marquez Ranch was a dark and dusty expanse of land. It was scattered with rocks and arid grassless dirtstomps, and Señor Marquez done turnt into a bustling hotbed of activity. He and his men raised cattle and goats in their grassier pastures, and they prospected for gold in the creekbeds.
From Zeke the Cowboy
Goodman Ranch
Goodman Ranch was swathed in sunlight, its soil a burnished bronze. The ranch stretched far in every direction, cows herding and sheepdogs barking off into the horizon. The pasture-land this side of town was scrawny and hardscrabble, which was why Mr. Goodman’s ranch had to be so big — the cows ranged far and wide.
From Zeke the Cowboy
Angelo Cavollo
Angelo Cavollo was a middle-aged Italian, a capo in the Cavollo family. He was lean and long, hairy in the chest and limbs. He got a big rectangle of a face and a nose like a eagle’s talon. The cell was hung up with letters from Angelo’s wife. Rocky was embarrassed he ain’t got a wife.
From Rocky the Ex-Con
Signor Caraldo
Then finally the door swung open, and the dour frown of Signor Caraldo appeared in the doorway. His bristly mustache quivered.
He was a short-faced paesano, a real paesano straight from some Italian pasture, here in America to put some airs on. He wore a hat and a shirt with buttons like a real man, and he spoke English with some loping provincial accent.From Rocky the Ex-Con
Lily Avenue Tenement
He went to the Lily Avenue tenement. That was just outside Bensonhurst, but it was an Italian building — wops, fresh off the boat, ain’t none of ’em speak a lick of English. It reeked of olive oil, salami and sweat-soaked cotton in there.
Rocky liked that smell. He didn’t even mind the crowds. A man could rent the right to sleep in the hall for a dollar a week, and that was what dozens of them did. They choked the place like build-up in a pipe. Mister Gregarian owned this building, so they paid their rent to him.
When they paid.
The Caraldo family lived in a real apartment, a fourth-floor boxflat, not sprawled out in the halls like the deadbeats Rocky weaved around on his way up the stairs.From Rocky the Ex-Con
Rayshawn Miller
Rayshawn was a thick-ass bus of a nigga too. Thumper got him on the treadmill when they first came to the weight room, but Rayshawn was a smokehouse man — his lungs got to hurting, and he was too stonery to focus on anything for long. Soon enough he be sitting on the bench press with his thickness spilling outta him, talking about all the different times he got high.
From Thumper on Parole
Thumper watched Rayshawn blather on like a bong that got turned into a real boy. Rayshawn got a long, yawny voice.
Rayshawn was tall as hell, that was all. He got a tough-nigga reputation and he was notionably a enforcer in the Bloods, but he was just tall. A dumptruck don’t gotta be tough. If you told Rayshawn to beat a nigga up, he’d prolly stop to smoke a blunt with that nigga first. That nigga could distract him with a slice of toast.
Oughta replace Rayshawn with a marijuna furnace, it’d make better conversation. Then get ridda the furnace and keep the marijuana. That nigga ain’t never gonna enforce nothing for the Bloods. The resta the cellbodies talked like he was tough though. Most folks couldn’t even reach his head, much less knock him out. Thumper knew the type.
From Thumper on Parole
The House Party
Speaking of that, there weren’t no food at this party. Ain’t a proper party according to Thumper’s notions. Inside the fridge got only a bottle of ketchup, a empty pack of cigarettes and a casserole dish with memories of lasagna and a note that said ‘sorry’.
From Thumper on Parole
Vimukhti Gunawardena
There was this black-curry backwards-cap buckaroo there named Vimook — he was a friend of Courtney’s, and she done introduce Thumper and Vimook before meeting up with her females. Thumper ain’t cotton to him from moment one, him with his basket of yos and bros and a bitty-titty beard like he thought he was handsome. Maybe he was. He was in good shape anyway. He said he “played squash”. Thumper done ate squash, but he don’t know what it meant to play it. Thumper don’t play with his food.
From Thumper on Parole