We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: for whites only.

We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream….

A block or so away, at the Slutty Vegan, a Black-owned fast-food joint that serves “bangin’, plant-based” fare, rap music rattles the room. Customers line up, ordering veggie meals with snappy names like “Super Slut,” “Side Heaux” and “Fussy Hussy.”

It’s been a busy, busy week, says Freddie Ellis, a wiry 44-year-old who looks younger than his years. As he stands behind the merchandising counter, where you can buy bottled hot sauce, T-shirts and “Slut Dust,” a seasoning blend, he recounts the week’s events: Monday was the Beyonce concert and her fans flocked en masse to Slutty Vegan. (Thanks to the Beehive, Slutty Vegan made tens of thousands on that day alone, he says.) Tuesday was Trump’s indictment. And Wednesday, the Atlanta Braves spanked the New York Yankees, 2 to 0.

What did he think of Trump’s indictment?

“They say no one’s above the law,” Ellis says. “But this’ll make him an icon to his supporters. I think what he did was wrong, but this’ll make him look like a superhero.

“He’s going to use this to his advantage.”

Ellis tells me he didn’t like what happened on Jan. 6, not one bit, especially the way insurrectionists were waving the Confederate flag. “It don’t get no more racist than that,” Ellis says. “I’m from Alabama.” But he doesn’t not like Trump. Though he’s a lifelong Democrat, he’s not ruling out voting for the man in 2024. His wallet was a little fatter during the Trump presidency, particularly during lockdown, thanks to PPE loans and stimulus checks. That counts for a lot in his book.

“I don’t have a reason not to like him,” Ellis says. “I could relate to him in some ways in that he doesn’t mind speaking his mind. Sometimes his mouth gets him into trouble.

“I can relate to that.”

Roughly 15 minutes away from the county courthouse, on Rice Street in Northwest Atlanta, is the Fulton County Jail, affectionately — or perhaps contemptuously — called the Rice Street Jail. Police have blocked off the entrance to the jail, which, from a distance, looks like a college campus with its sprawling grounds and lush green lawns.

This is where Trump and his 18 co-defendants, including Rudy Giuliani and and Kan… — ahem — Ye’s former publicist, Trevian Kutti, will turn themselves in to be booked and processed. But will they arrive through the front entrance? Or sneak through the back? There’s no way to know, and so, to be on the safe side, TV crews erect tents outside both entrances, where they wait in the heat, practicing the time-honored art of the stakeout.

Next to the back entrance is the Jefferson Place Transitional House, a treatment center for men who’re down on their luck. A cluster of men gather outside, some in wheelchairs, sunning themselves in the Georgia heat.

They talk about Trump’s indictment with a sense of marvel: That the former president could be booked and fingerprinted in the same place where so many Black men have been locked up — including Gunna, the rapper who in December pled guilty to racketeering charges — is nothing short of amazing to them.

“He claimed to be untouchable,” says Michael Addah, a sweet-faced 30-year-old with baby dreadlocks. “But God — you know what I’m saying?— is the God of the Impossible. And Trump was able to be touched. He’s no different from anyone else. He needs to humble himself.”

“I figure he’s getting his karma about all the things he was belligerent about. It’s a big smack in the face.”

Perez, sitting next to Addah in a Tupac T-shirt, says he can’t vote, thanks to his criminal record. But if he could vote, he says, he would’ve voted for Trump.

“He’s a big man,” Perez, 42, says. Still, he wasn’t happy with the January 6 shenanigans. “It was too much drama,” he says. “People were jumping over the walls” to get into the U.S. Capitol.

Meanwhile, by the front entrance, two young white women walk by slowly, holding up their phones, shooting video. They live right up the street, and they can’t believe the drama that’s unfolding in their front yards.

“Do you think he’s going to come?” says Annelise Rempe, 21, who attends college in Denver. “I’m curious.”

She means Trump, of course.

“We think he deserves it,” says her friend, Gillian Schuh, 21, who attends college at Parsons in New York City. “He needs to be treated like everyone else.”

“I was really surprised he was being treated like a regular civilian,” Rempe says.

“Famous rappers have been here to get booked, like Gunna,” Schuh adds.

“It’s crazy,” Rempe says.

“He hasn’t been kind to minorities,” Schuh says.

Rempe nods in agreement. “I don’t think he’s going to be very popular…” she says, cutting herself off.

She stops, putting up her hands and peering through them at the jail’s entrance, looking like a film director framing a shot.

“Whoa,” Rempe says, shaking her head in amazement.

“I’m just taking it all in.”