CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Plato Avenue was only a few minutes from my house.
With a street name like Plato Avenue, I had big expectations. I half expected to find the answers to the universe on this block, or at least an old man with a beard sitting on his porch, contemplating the world.
But Plato Avenue was just more of the same. Different street, same houses, same color schemes. The only thing different was the order of empty lots. About the only wisdom you could glean from around here was a discarded fortune cookie slip on the ground.
Unlike my street, there weren’t any people sitting on their porches. There was more trash than usual wedged in the curbs. The wind rolled a potato chip bag across the street, the hood’s version of tumbleweed.
The street was so flat that the houses on both sides
