The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-City Neighborhood

The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-City Neighborhood

David Simon, Edward Burns

Language: English

Pages: 543

ISBN: 0767900316

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The crime-infested intersection of West Fayette and Monroe Streets is well-known--and cautiously avoided--by most of Baltimore. But this notorious corner's 24-hour open-air drug market provides the economic fuel for a dying neighborhood. David Simon, an award-winning author and crime reporter, and Edward Burns, a 20-year veteran of the urban drug war, tell the chilling story of this desolate crossroad.

Through the eyes of one broken family--two drug-addicted adults and their smart, vulnerable 15-year-old son, DeAndre McCollough, Simon and Burns examine the sinister realities of inner cities across the country and unflinchingly assess why law enforcement policies, moral crusades, and the welfare system have accomplished so little. This extraordinary book is a crucial look at the price of the drug culture and the poignant scenes of hope, caring, and love that astonishingly rise in the midst of a place America has abandoned.

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with copied questions and rote answers—the usual ditto-sheet fodder that the city teachers threw his way. “Four resources of Africa: gold, silver, diamonds, oil.” “Define the following terms: tariffs, interpret, census.” “Who was Crispus Attucks?” “Madame C.J. Walker invented the hot comb. She developed an entire line of beauty supplies. She was the first black millionaire.” But the notebook was long gone, left behind on the bleachers in the Francis M. Woods gym, unmissed and unmourned by a

with the bassinet and some other things too. He’ll do what’s right. “You know I’m done with Shanelle,” DeAndre tells her. Tyreeka looks doubtful. “Man, we been broke up,” DeAndre insists. “I ain’t got nuthin’ more to do with that girl.” “Dena says …” “Dena don’t know shit. I ain’t been with Shanelle since, like, I don’t know when.” DeAndre tells her how it’s different now, how she can come down here to Boyd Street and live with them if she wants. She and the baby. He tells her that he’s

get up around midday, she’s talking nonsense, her thoughts rambling out in broken sentences. She’s admitted to a bed in the hospital’s other wing, and Fayette Street’s lost platoon is down to three warriors: Eggy Daddy, Rita, and Curt’s brother, Dennis. “They gonna have to carry me off this corner,” declares Dennis proudly. “You can take all them other motherfuckers to Bon Secours and I’ll still be right here.” “You hardcore,” Eggy assures him. “I’ll be the last man on the corner.” “I be

of any private employer in the nation. Most dramatic of all, perhaps, we have continued to escalate this war of occupation in our inner cities until more than half of the adult black male population in places like Baltimore are now, in some way, under the supervision of the criminal justice system. This war, like the last one, will not be won. The truth in this is nakedly visible—if not to those crafting the tactics and strategy, then to those standing on the bottom, looking up at all the sound

Kiti still giving it a rest, they fish a homemade mix tape from Dinky’s winter coat and march over to the worn-down tape player that is among the rec center’s most utilized assets. Brian slaps the cassette into place and punches play, then rushes to find the stop button when the music dissolves in a warped slur. “Damn,” he says, punching out the cassette. “You gotta rewind it and put in the other side,” says Dinky. “It fucks up like that on one side.” “Dinky.” “Oh, sorry, Miss Ella,” he says,

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