Before I can say anything else, Li’l Whizz takes the mic. The crowd whistles and cheers. His voice is both high-pitched and gravelly, like Bugs Bunny with a two-pack-a-day habit. “Let’s give it up for Reverend Darby,” the hip-hop star says. The crowd applauds and Reverend Darby closes his eyes and smiles, shaking his head. Off to the side, Peaches is ushering some teens onto the stage. They form two ragged clumps, the boys trying not to look nervous and the girls bumping into each other and giggling.

“When I was growing up on these streets,” Li’l Whizz says in his high gravelly voice, “I got into all kinds of trouble. And it wasn’t no good trouble, either.” Laughter from the crowd. “I didn’t have a place like this rec center to keep me on the straight and narrow. I got lucky with my music, found me a good place in life. But too many kids don’t have that chance.” He throws out his open hand toward the teens. “A place like this, it can change lives,” he says. More applause, the teen girls joining in, the boys all solemn and unmoved, although I catch one of them hiding a smirk.

Li’l Whizz starts singing “Amazing Grace.” In song his voice is transformed, smoothed out and powerful. The crowd joins in like a makeshift backup choir. I’m surprised when all the teens on stage join in. I catch Caesar’s eye and nod my head to indicate the stage, then start making my way through the crowd, Caesar following. We head toward a set of steps at the left side of the stage. I spot Peaches’s mother near the front row in a sleeveless green dress and a wide-brimmed white hat with enough flowers and bows to stock a gift shop. By the time Li’l Whizz finishes the song and the crowd erupts in applause and shouts of Amen and Sing it brother, I have made it to within ten feet of the steps.

“Let’s eat, y’all,” Li’l Whizz says, and the crowd shifts and turns its attention to the tables of food. Meanwhile, Li’l Whizz and his bodyguards come down the steps, followed by the teenagers, another man in dress pants and a yellow button-down, and then, finally, Peaches. The man in the yellow shirt is Billy. He’s as huge as he was last night. Billy walks down the steps in front of Peaches, starts to scan the crowd, then sees me and comes to a dead stop on the bottom step. “Aw, hell no,” he says.

Peaches, still coming down the steps, almost collides with Billy. “Man, what the—” Peaches says, then looks up and sees me. His face hardens.

I wave. “Hey, y’all,” I say. “Your eyes better today, Billy?”