Epilogue

Summary

Sometimes at night I stand in front of my son. I just look at him, and I cry. I be thinking: “I don't deserve such a good little nigga’. And besides Felipe, what's gonna happen to him? I'm twenty-six years old already. I mean, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing in life. I don't got no direction. You gotta help me Felipe – please!

Caesar

I returned to New York City during the spring and part of the summer and fall of 1994 to make the final revisions on this manuscript and prepare this epilogue. As it goes to press:

Primo has not sold drugs for more than three years and has cut his ties to Ray. He no longer sniffs cocaine or even drinks alcohol. As a matter of fact, on one occasion when an acquaintance from the Game Room insisted on buying him a beer, he discreetly poured it into the gutter.

For the third summer in a row, Primo has found a temporary job, earning $500 a week before taxes, as a night porter in a luxury high-rise condominium building on the Upper East Side. He is replacing the full-time, unionized night porters who go on vacation during the summer months. Primo missed several days of work when he was hospitalized for a week because of an asthma attack precipitated by an allergic reaction to debris he cleaned up in the condominium building's maintenance-repair facility.