twenty-sevenGeorge Zumpo figured he was on the road to redemption, a possibility that frightened and confused him. The white man’s mores had entered his life so completely that he had begun to drink socially acceptable wines. But one day, when summer was ending and the autumnal equinox neared, he grew sentimental about the good old days and so became, for a short time at least, a lapsed model citizen.
Zumpo went outdoors and visited his old haunts. He crawled under the Goodwill loading dock and had a long conversation with the Troll regarding the merits of various budget-priced wines and liquors. There was nothing like Cisco Red they agreed, and after they shared a couple bottles of the stuff, the Troll got to work. He set himself up mid-alley in a boxer’s stance—much improved since Zumpo
