Narrow and indifferently cobblestoned, the road was a botch from the start. Just that morning there was another article in the Tribune about the city tearing down the elevated highway. The pickup bounced in the unholy rut of the West Side Highway. The radios were top of the line three years ago now padded blankets hid their slick mahogany cabinets, fastened by leather straps to the truckbed. Now they took up space in the basement that he needed for the new recliners coming in from Argent next week and whatever he picked up from the dead lady’s apartment that afternoon. He’d given up on the radios, hadn’t sold one in a year and half no matter how much he marked them down and begged. First up was Radio Row, to unload the final three consoles, two RCAs and a Magnavox, and pick up the TV he left. Ray Carney was having one of his run-around days-uptown, downtown, zipping across the city. His cousin Freddie brought him in on the heist one hot night in early June. A recipient of MacArthur and Guggenheim fellowships, he lives in New York City. Whitehead is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of ten works of fiction and nonfiction, and is a two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, for The Nickel Boys and The Underground Railroad , which also won the National Book Award. The following is from Colson Whitehead's new novel, Harlem Shuffle.
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