He was a survivor.  Somehow, Tashawn Darcy had endured a year in prison and come out alive.  Sent there for possession with intent, he’d learned to read and write, things that never mattered to him as a hustler on the streets of Atlanta.  But the study spent preparing for the GED never prepared him for the challenge he now faced.

The elderly white lady passed him a cup of tea and plate of cookies as her friends clutched their books and focused their attention on him. “So, tell me, ladies,” he asked, “What do you think of Mr. Raskolnikov?”

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