I Am Not Sidney Poitier by Percival Everett:
It was just sunrise, and the air was already hot and sticky. As parched as I was I refused to drink any water from the well. I could only guess how many rodents had fallen into it to drown and decompose. Neither was I hungry enough to consume just one more bean or rock-hard piece of bread. The hounds called and they sounded closer.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
Before we could leave, Sis and Bobo grabbed a few things, and Patrice had an idea to throw the dogs off our trail. He covered the ground with black pepper and every other seasoning he could find in the house.
“It’ll take ‘em awhile to sneeze dat out,” he said. He giggled. “I wish I could be here to see when dey do.”
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