what?
Are you really in trouble? Does being in a bad part of the city necessarily mean—
“Hey.”
You turn to see a car slowing down. You stop looking when you see the figures in the car.
“Looks like you’re lost,” the voice says, laughing.
You keep walking.
“Slow down there now.”
You walk faster.
“We ain’t gonna do anything.”
But there are three of them and you are sticking out.
Sticking way out.
“Buddy, come on over here.”
And you look and see the grin and the glistening, hazy eyes and think it might be best for you to start hauling tail out of here.
You begin to sprint down the sidewalk. The street feels hard beneath your shoes and you suck in air but you feel like you could run five miles this way.
The engine behind you revs up but you don’t bother looking. You keep running down the sidewalk until you come to a narrow alley.
It’s too small for a car to go down.
You don’t bother looking to see where it heads. You go down it, the darkness of the two buildings on each side making it impossible to see all the way down.
You hear the squeal of tires stopping. The sound of car doors opening.
“Come on, man!” someone shouts at you. “Come on back here!”
But you keep running. You’re not going to look back and you’re not going to stop.
You feel air and suck in air and feel the alley walls closing in and hear the echoes of your footsteps.
You can sense them coming after you.
A wall stops you dead in your tracks. It’s a wood fence, about six feet tall.
You look back and see three figures walking toward you.
A curse escapes out of your mouth. You put one hand on the top of the fence and then try to scale the wall.
Nothing. You fall back.
They’re still coming.
You try again. This time, you manage to scale the wall and hoist your body high enough to drape one leg over the wall.
You try to pull the rest over. One second passes. Nothing. Another.
You’re about to fall off.
Come on Mike do it pull yourself up
.
“Where you think you’re going?” a voice asks.
You finally manage to get another leg over. You pull and get the rest of your body over the fence. It feels unsturdy as you get behind it and feel your feet fall to the concrete street.
You don’t bother looking behind. You keep running down the rest of the alley, opening up to another street.
Call someone
.
You look right and left. Neither looks particularly appealing. Empty, dark streets. Deserted, blackened shells of buildings.
Right or left. Pick your poison.
You head right and start running. You run. And keep running. Until your chest feels like it’s going to explode. And your legs have to stop. You suck in air. And you try to listen to see if you can hear anything. For the moment, it’s nothing but silence.
B EFORE A VOICE CAN WARN YOU to go the other way, you hear the sound of the engine racing down the street, then slowing and pulling up close to you. You can’t help but feel your breath catch as you see the dark face smoking a cigarette behind the jacked-up Cadillac SUV.
“You lost there?” a low voice asks above the raucous beat of the dance music.
“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, not even looking at the driver, walking on.
“I don’t think you’re fine, man.”
You keep walking.
“You know where you are?”
You look at him and see his eyes below thick dreadlocks. There is a humor in them, laced with friendliness.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Your car broke down?”
“It’s been a long night.”
He laughs. “Gonna be a lot longer if you don’t get in the car.”
His voice and his attitude seem friendly enough. You survived the gun in your face, you can tackle this.
You get into the car. The driver is a big African-American with funky, bright clothes and a mass of dreads. The interior smells like cologne and is remarkably clean. The leather feels good.
“So what’s your story?” he asks as he accelerates down the empty street.
Glowing red numbers on the dash
Are you really in trouble? Does being in a bad part of the city necessarily mean—
“Hey.”
You turn to see a car slowing down. You stop looking when you see the figures in the car.
“Looks like you’re lost,” the voice says, laughing.
You keep walking.
“Slow down there now.”
You walk faster.
“We ain’t gonna do anything.”
But there are three of them and you are sticking out.
Sticking way out.
“Buddy, come on over here.”
And you look and see the grin and the glistening, hazy eyes and think it might be best for you to start hauling tail out of here.
You begin to sprint down the sidewalk. The street feels hard beneath your shoes and you suck in air but you feel like you could run five miles this way.
The engine behind you revs up but you don’t bother looking. You keep running down the sidewalk until you come to a narrow alley.
It’s too small for a car to go down.
You don’t bother looking to see where it heads. You go down it, the darkness of the two buildings on each side making it impossible to see all the way down.
You hear the squeal of tires stopping. The sound of car doors opening.
“Come on, man!” someone shouts at you. “Come on back here!”
But you keep running. You’re not going to look back and you’re not going to stop.
You feel air and suck in air and feel the alley walls closing in and hear the echoes of your footsteps.
You can sense them coming after you.
A wall stops you dead in your tracks. It’s a wood fence, about six feet tall.
You look back and see three figures walking toward you.
A curse escapes out of your mouth. You put one hand on the top of the fence and then try to scale the wall.
Nothing. You fall back.
They’re still coming.
You try again. This time, you manage to scale the wall and hoist your body high enough to drape one leg over the wall.
You try to pull the rest over. One second passes. Nothing. Another.
You’re about to fall off.
Come on Mike do it pull yourself up
.
“Where you think you’re going?” a voice asks.
You finally manage to get another leg over. You pull and get the rest of your body over the fence. It feels unsturdy as you get behind it and feel your feet fall to the concrete street.
You don’t bother looking behind. You keep running down the rest of the alley, opening up to another street.
Call someone
.
You look right and left. Neither looks particularly appealing. Empty, dark streets. Deserted, blackened shells of buildings.
Right or left. Pick your poison.
You head right and start running. You run. And keep running. Until your chest feels like it’s going to explode. And your legs have to stop. You suck in air. And you try to listen to see if you can hear anything. For the moment, it’s nothing but silence.
B EFORE A VOICE CAN WARN YOU to go the other way, you hear the sound of the engine racing down the street, then slowing and pulling up close to you. You can’t help but feel your breath catch as you see the dark face smoking a cigarette behind the jacked-up Cadillac SUV.
“You lost there?” a low voice asks above the raucous beat of the dance music.
“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, not even looking at the driver, walking on.
“I don’t think you’re fine, man.”
You keep walking.
“You know where you are?”
You look at him and see his eyes below thick dreadlocks. There is a humor in them, laced with friendliness.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Your car broke down?”
“It’s been a long night.”
He laughs. “Gonna be a lot longer if you don’t get in the car.”
His voice and his attitude seem friendly enough. You survived the gun in your face, you can tackle this.
You get into the car. The driver is a big African-American with funky, bright clothes and a mass of dreads. The interior smells like cologne and is remarkably clean. The leather feels good.
“So what’s your story?” he asks as he accelerates down the empty street.
Glowing red numbers on the dash
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