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- Faces in the CrowdJune 11, 2001
Knight walks down to the other end of the scorer's table. "Hey, Maryalyce."
Brightly: "Yes, Bobby?"
"You know what a dab is?"
"No, what's that?"
"It's a dumb-assed broad," he says, smirking.
"I don't know any of those," she replies—a pretty quick comeback.
But he won't leave it alone. The edge, again: "Yeah, you know one more than you think you do."
And he moves on. The white woman shrugs. It's just Bobby. The black man shrugs. It's just Bobby. But why is it just Bobby? Why does he do this to himself? He's smart enough to know that, in this instance, he isn't hurting his two friends nearly so much as he hurts himself, cumulatively, by casting this kind of bread upon the waters, day after day. Why? Why, Bobby, why?