Maniac Magee

McNab and his friends yell at Maniac as he runs away.

He darted left, skirted the dump, wove through the miniature mountain range of stone piles and into the trees ... skiing on his heels down the steep bank and into the creek, frogs plopping, no time to look for stepping rocks...yells behind him now, war whoops, stones pelting the water, stinging his back... ah, the other side, through the trees and picker bushes, past the armory jeeps and out to the park boulevard, past the Italian restaurant on the corner, the bakery, screeching tires, row houses, streets, alleys, cars, porches, windows, faces staring, faces, faces...the town whizzing past Maniac, a blur of faces, each face staring from its own window, each face in its own personal frame, its own house, its own address, someplace to be when there was no other place to be, how lucky to be a face staring out from a window .