Lana studied Jones’ face, but his eyes were invisible behind the smoke and dark glasses.
“The only thing you ever be givin the orphan is siphlus. Whoa! Do gimme no shit about no mutherfuckin record player. As soon as I crack open this orphan case, I calling a po-lice myself. I sick and tire of working in this cathouse below the minimal wage and getting intimidatia all the time.”
“Hey! Then they is somethin crooker with the orphans. Whoa! I knowed it all along. Well, if ever you plannin to call up a po-lice about me, I plannin to call up a po-lice about you. Phones at po-lice headquarters really be hummin. Ooo-we. Now lemme in peace with my sweepin and moppin. Recor playin pretty advance for color peoples. I probably break your machine” (p. 188).
manwithoutqualities 