LIGHTING THE KINARA: Boyd knew the meaning of the Fiddle’s little riddle. 1500 Sixth Ave. North, he’d written in his notebook. (205) 328-9696, www.bcri.org. Boyd had been lighting the red, green and black candles in the kinara—the ceremonial candle holder for a Kwanzaa celebration—for many years. He parked his car near Kelly Ingram Park and shut it off, killing the Coltrane he was playing. He flicked a cigarette into the gutter as he stepped out of his car and walked to St. Paul’s United Methodist Church. He’d skipped the free 5 p.m. Kwanzaa Workshop at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute—he felt he knew enough about the African-American holiday— but wasn’t going to miss the free 6 p.m. Kwanzaa Celebration at St. Paul’s. 1500 Sixth Ave. North, he’d written in his notebook. (205) 328-9696, www.bcri.org. He tried to shake off his grizzled nature as much as possible, as this was something he nearly enjoyed, and greeted fellow celebrants by saying “habari gani,” Swahili for “what’s the news?” The service was nice enough, but Boyd had no further clue as to how he could get what he was after. He waited outside the church after the service, but there was nothing. He walked towards his car, head down, and upon rounding a corner ran smack into a vagrant. “It takes a daring boy to mock a killing bird, etcetera, etcetera” the man yelled, and asked for some change before walking off, still muttering. A schitzophrenic, Boyd thought, and quickened his pace.