This is not a nice part of town, but he gets along fine.
I know it’s not safe, but I just feel so free as I meander the moonlit pavement all by myself tonight. Treadin’ where few dare to go boosts the self-esteem like the drugs that you can buy from those shady figures I do my best to avoid. Those guys are bad news. Crossin’ with them is exactly what you do if you want to end up taking a snoozer on the river bottom.
I stop to look around as I hear the usual gunshots go off about five blocks away. I guess I’m not alone. But you never really are all by yourself in the city, even when you can’t see anyone around you. That is both comfortin’ and unnervin’. Help is just up the street, but he’s packin’ a forty-five and he may just as well choose to leave you to solve your own problems. Or he could decide to join in the fun. You never know.
Ah. Goodman Street. This place is not exactly known for bein’ family friendly, even during the day. At night, you may as well sign your death warrant. Taxi’s don’t come through this part of town after ten, though even if they did, they wouldn’t stop to pick anyone up. No sir. Not unless they’ve got a pistol ridin' shotgun in the seat beside them. Come to think of it, nobody drives through this part of town, let alone go afoot on their lonesome like me. I don’t really care that much. If I live to see another day, it’ll just be back to the daily grind workin’ at the deli on 57th. Money is tight, but, hey, it’s a livin’.
I come around a corner and almost run right into the guy. So much for bein’ all smooth like. I start runnin’ first, though he immediately follows suit. No use waitin’ to see what he is gonna do. You gotta be quick on your feet, and faster in your head. Unlucky for him, that’s me.
We race down Goodman into the heart of all the troubles of the night, knowing full well that our noise is liable to attract even more ill-intending company. This guy is an acrobat, and a mighty nimble one at that. He dodges barrels and open manholes, streetlights and dumpsters. I even throw a broken bottle that I keep stashed in my jacket for situations just like this. There is no stoppin’ him.
That is, until we run down the wrong alley into a dead end. He yells at me, tryin’ to intimidate me. Oh, buddy. That is the wrong move. I simply pull out my gun.
“You gotta be real careful wanderin’ the city streets at night. You might get robbed or shot, or, if you’re lucky, both.”