McCall arrived home from prison to an empty, quiet house. He needed to be alone. Freedom was new and he had to test it, to verify it: “[F]or three years, the world had been speeding ahead while [he] stood still” (228). Prison also affected him emotionally. He was frequently tense and panicked when he heard sirens. Most of his friends were locked up, had moved onto manual labor work, or, like Scobe, were doing a combination of both. When Shane asked him to hang, McCall declined, worried that he would end up in a situation he didn’t want to be in. That left him without much of a social life: “I was sure there were many intelligent, progressive people out there somewhere, but I had no idea where they were or how to find them” (232). Yvette, a woman he’d started corresponding with while on furlough, became his haven.

McCall’s parole officer ran down for him what he could and couldn’t do. McCall found it humiliating and resented it. The worst part was that he “was required by law to tell the truth on job applications” that he was a convicted felon (233). McCall hit the streets to find a job, but adding the felony conviction to the struggle he already faced as a black man made it impossible: “Most blacks understand that a brother with a rap sheet is commonplace, like being circumcised.