“I’m Lemon Brown,” came the answer. “Who’re you?” “Greg Ridley.” “What you doing here?” The figure shuffled forward again, and Greg took a small step backward. “It’s raining,” Greg said. “I can see that,” the figure said. The person who called himself Lemon Brown peered forward, and Greg could see him clearly. He was an old man. His black, heavily wrinkled face was surrounded by a halo of crinkly white hair and whiskers that seemed to separate his head from the layers of dirty coats piled on his smallish frame. His pants were bagged to the knee, where they were met with rags that went down to the old shoes. The rags were held on with strings, and there was a rope around his middle. Greg relaxed. He had seen the man before, picking through the trash on the corner and pulling clothes out of a Salvation Army box. There was no sign of a razor that could “cut a week into nine days.” “What are you doing here?” Greg asked. “This is where I’m staying,” Lemon Brown said. “What you here for?” “Told you it was raining out,” Greg said, leaning against the back of the couch until he felt it give slightly. “Ain’t you got no home?” “I got a home,” Greg answered. “You ain’t one of them bad boys looking for my treasure, is you?” Lemon Brown cocked his head to one side and squinted one eye. “Because I told you I got me a razor.” “I’m not looking for your treasure,” Greg answered, smiling. “If you have one.” “What you mean, if I have one.” Lemon Brown said. “Every man got a treasure. You don’t know that, you must be a fool!” “Sure,” Greg said as he sat on the sofa and put one leg over the back. “What do you have, gold coins?” “Don’t worry none about what I got,” Lemon Brown said. “You know who I am?” “You told me your name was orange or lemon or something like that.” “Lemon Brown,” the old man said, pulling back his shoulders as he did so,” they used to call me Sweet Lemon Brown.” “Sweet Lemon?” Greg asked. “Yessir. Sweet Lemon Brown. They used to say I sung the blues so sweet that if I sang at a funeral, the dead would commence to rocking with the beat. Used to travel all over Mississippi and as far as Monroe, Louisiana, and east on over to Macon, Georgia. You mean you ain’t never heard of Sweet Lemon Brown?” “Afraid not,” Greg said. “What…happened to you?”
question:
(P) Paraphrase: In your own words, summarize what you read in the passage above. These need to be concise, well thought out sentences. At the end of your summary, make an INFERENCE (to infer) on what the response from Lemon Brown might be to Greg’s question, “What…happened to you?”
Answers
Answered by
14
Answer:
Bro what is this I don't know the answer.But let me just help you with this beautiful poetry
i love the sprinkle of lemon zest
mark me as the brainliest.
Answered by
1
Answer:
his looks
he is not rich
Explanation:
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