They were standing around the kitchen table. The window looked out on 142nd street. Snow was falling on the ice-locked piles of garbage stretching like levees along the gutters as far as the eye could see.
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Imabelle was Jackson's woman. She was a cushion-lipped , hot bodied , banana skin chick with the speckled brown eyes of a teaser and the high arched, ball-bearing hips of a natural born amante. Jackson was crazy for her as a moose for doe.
A Rage in Harlem
Chester Himes
1957
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