Sweet Black Angel

When my mother died I had to clean out all my books from my room in the basement to get it ready to show to buyers. I was then nearly 50 and working in an MBA program in Shanghai. I was juiced into the whole money-making thing, the thing that after all got millions and millions of Chinese out of poverty and was doing the same in India and could do the same in any other country that would buckle down and get some order established and let people run free enough to make money but not be disruptive. It would work anywhere but Africa was a problem, admittedly. I found my Diary of Che Guevara and Soul On Ice and anthologies of the works of Lenin and Marx and Mr. X, plus a stack of newsletters from the American Socialist Workers Party. When did I put them down? Had I put them down?