eighty              

            Futter us get from N' O'leans, futter my life in N' O'leans seem to get, like a story someun tol' what barely stir a mem'ry—story 'bout someun else; I not much in it. 'Cep' I do rec'lec' a lesson learnt from Éclair, Mutter Moss, the Rev'ren' Lysle, an' aw dem fair-skin chillen, what has to do wiff treatin' fo'ks like fo'ks 'stead o' livestock. Use to think jus' Whites took advantage o' deir infer'ors. Now I un'erstan' dat blacks do 'mos' de same, give 'em ha'f de chance—makin' us ha'f as mean, I s'pose, but no less blameful. Ain't no one on dis earf put here fo' to slave. Freedom make dat dawn, no matter it de put-off kine.

            Don' seem likely gwon fine lodgin's fo' de night; sun 'mos' down—nuffin' fron' nor back o' us 'cep' ev'green trees. Right peaceful. Feels fresh an' cool, smells piney... Mayhap time fo' me an' Zach'ry share dese comfy-cosy blankets.