I was not used to cities, and after so long out in the wilds, I was overawed. San Francisco was huge, terrifying to my eyes that were used to the wide-open spaces. I am sure I must have looked like the gullible little black boy I was, or the mountain man I had been. I stared at the crowds and the diverse people and contemplated turning back and returning to the wilderness. I felt as if I had entered the white man’s world, and I knew I did not belong.
“Are you all right, boy?” The stocky man was so tanned it was hard to tell that he was white. He walked with an assured swagger, while his top hat sat at a jaunty angle on top of his head.
“I’m all right,” I told him, keeping my head down for I was not used to human company.
“Where are you heading?” The stocky man fell into step beside me,
