|The St. Stephen Motel in St. Stephen, South Carolina.|
|Dinner at the Crawford Motor Inn.|
He started talking about some “boy,” but we didn’t know what he meant. Then he looked up, and we turned around to see a young black guy, around our age, who was handing in his key and checking out. B_ was in equal measures hostile—“You gittin’ out yit? Good!”—and amicable—telling us he had known him since he was “yay high” and asking him if he would soon return. When T_ came into the office from doing laundry, B_ told her that the “black boy” in Room 2 had just checked out. Brahna and I tried not to look at each other.
|B_, T_, Brahna, and I|