Let My People Go "Yo Danyel! Stimulus!" calls Darick from down the street. "Response!" I call back. We come together for a hug and a kiss, with Joel and Chung right behind Darick. This is awkward on the streets of old Boston, because the sidewalks are pretty narrow, and other walkers have to edge around us. Still, it's a cool old neighborhood. The streetlights are gas lamps, burning with a yellowish light, must be two hundred years old (although they burn gasified cellulose fuel now, since fossil fuel supplies failed around 2060). The pavement is brick, knobbly and uneven under our feet, and the buildings are mostly brick too, huddled against each other like grumpy old men in heavy coats. Quite a contrast to the glass-and-steel skyscrapers beyond them, and the tesla powered billboards displaying ads and porn. Darick throws one arm around my neck as we walk. "So, we're gonna go for matoke at the Tanzanian place on Beacon Street. You in?" Chung cackles, “Chow time!” rubbing her hands together.
