Sean turned slowly, gazing up at the dazzling displays of Times Square. Here at last. I can hardly believe it. He closed his eyes and breathed deep--spicy halal food carts, cloying vape smoke, the BO of a nearby homeless guy loitering outside a public restroom. It smelled like home. A new home. A new life.

“I’m going to become the king of this city!” he yelled. A passersby told him to fuck off. The insult fell on deaf ears.

Sean tightened his backpack on his shoulders and set off in search of food. He felt a powerful beat within his chest, and while most likely it was the drummers on the corner banging on buckets with wooden spoons, he imagined it was the pulse of the city syncing with his own heart. 

He locked eyes on a 99 cent pizza place, and made a beeline for it. He’d only walked a few steps when an Asian man wearing a monk’s robe approached to offer him a laminated card. Not one to be rude to strangers, Sean accepted the card and looked it over - it was some kind of advertisement for a place of worship. The words appeared to be poorly translated into English. Sean decided the best course of action would be to thank the man and move on. He told the man thank you, have a nice day, but the man shuffled to the side and blocked Sean’s path with an outstretched arm.

“You donate.” Sean wasn’t sure whether it was a question or a demand. Either way he had no money to give, so he apologized and tried again to move past him, only to be blocked.

“You donate,” the man repeated, more insistent this time. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money. I would love to help you, I just can’t.”

The monk took a menacing step closer, and the thought crossed Sean’s mind that this guy might take a swing at him. He had never been in a real fistfight before, and he didn’t think getting beat up by a street scammer dressed like a monk in the middle of Times Square was a great place to start. 

“Leave him alone, pal!” A short, dark-skinned man with long shaggy hair in jeans and a zip-up hoodie appeared out of nowhere and gave the monk a shove. The monk whirled around to confront his attacker, but saw who it was and thought better of it.

“Don’t pay those fellas any mind - they’re just trying to take advantage of good-hearted people for their own selfish reasons. Disgrace to real monks, if you ask me,” the man said. He offered Sean a handshake. “I’m Faisal.”

“I’m Sean. Thanks for helping me out there.”

“Of course! We’re New Yorkers, gotta look out for one another. Ya heading towards that pizza joint?” 

Sean hesitated. He was in fact heading towards that pizza joint, but he was hesitant to trust another stranger. Still… he had called Sean a New Yorker.  Maybe Faisal wasn’t so bad after all. 

Faisal sensed his hesitation. With a smile on his face, he slapped Sean on the shoulder. “Of course, you’re a New Yorker, you don’t just trust any old person on the street! How ‘bout this - I know the best pizza place in the city, it’s right around the corner. Care to join me?”

Even though the 99 cent pizza was right in front of him, Sean’s craving for anything authentic New York was stronger. He agreed and hurried to catch up to Faisal, who had already taken off towards 44th Street.

“So, uh, I’m actually not really a New Yorker,” Sean admitted. “I just moved here last weekend.”

“No way!” Faisal seemed shocked, but Sean couldn’t tell if he was feigning surprise to spare his ego. “Well, you’re a New Yorker now. Where ya from?”

“Ohio. A little town south of Bowling Green.”

“No clue where that is. To be honest with ya, I’ve never left New York! Why would I? All the opportunity in the world here for a hustler like me!”

Sean followed the odd little man down 44th street, fascinated at this character that he had met. As they walked, Faisal pointed out all the Broadway shows and shared little tidbits that only a born-and-bred New Yorker would know. “That show sucks. But the lead girl? Whoooo boy, she’s a lot of fun” he’d say, or “I once saw an understudy fight a little person at a strip club” or “that theater has the best margaritas, but I legally can’t be within 100 feet of the bartender”. Sean’s head was swimming as he daydreamed of all the adventures he’d have and the stories he’d be able to tell his family back home.

Towards the end of the block they passed a giant sign that read “John’s Pizzeria”. Sean’s eyes grew wide.

“Faisal, is this it?! I’ve heard of this place, it used to be an old church!”

Faisal looked affronted and quickened his pace. Sean assumed there must be a different place that Faisal liked better. Of course he doesn’t like the tourist-y place, Sean thought. Real New Yorkers don’t go where the tourists go. Duh.

Eventually they arrived at a simple looking pizza place and sat down with a slice each. Faisal encouraged him not to bother with the fancy toppings and to just get a regular cheese slice: “That’s how you evaluate a real New York slice of pizza.”  

“So tell me Sean, how are you going to make your New York dreams come true?” Faisal asked between sips of Diet Coke.

“I’m in finance - I have a job at Merrill Lynch. I start next week.” Sean said proudly. “But my real goal is to be on Wall Street. I want to trade stocks from 9:30 to 4 and then rub shoulders with the most powerful people in the city. They’ll see my motivation and my potential and they’ll have no choice but to accept me. I’ll be living in a penthouse in no time!”

Faisal looked impressed. “So you’re a smart numbers guy huh?”

“Absolutely. I graduated top of my class from Northwestern.”

“Good for you, smart guys make smart guy money!”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Thanks! What about you, Faisal? What do you do?”

Instead of responding right away, Faisal looked over his shoulder discreetly and then leaned in close. Sean leaned in as well. 

“I’m a pickpocket,” he said.

“A pickpocket?!” Sean said, rather loudly. Faisal slyly grinned and motioned for him to quiet down.

“Yes, yes, I steal things from tourists. You’d be surprised at the lackadaisical way in which people carry their expensive belongings,” Faisal said matter-of-factly. He didn’t seem ashamed at all, even proud a little bit. Sean suddenly felt anxious, as if the police were going to come and arrest the two of them at any second.

“How long have you been doing this for?” Sean asked tentatively. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know but he was still oddly fascinated with the stranger.

“Fifteen years.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yup, I’m the best... You ever need a quick cash boost, or looking to get something back, Faisal’s your guy.”

“Have you ever been caught?”

“Nope.”

“How do you make a living? You can’t make THAT much on stolen goods.”

“Like I told you,” Faisal smiled wryly, “I’m the best.”

“Ok then- prove it.” Sean challenged. He looked around for a target. “Steal that lady’s phone.”

Faisal took one more bite of pizza and scoffed at the challenge. He didn’t even look where Sean pointed. “I’ll do you one better,” he said. “Meet me on the corner in 5 minutes.”

Faisal stood up and sauntered over to the booth by the door. The booth had two women in it, professional-looking types who were out to lunch. One had no belongings with her but the other had a huge Coach bag with various items sticking out of the top. Sean assumed he would sneak over and snag something out of the bag; he drastically underestimated Faisal’s skill.

Faisal looked like he was leaving, but then made a big show of recognizing the women in the booth. He adopted a rather effeminate pose as he threw his hands up in the air.

“Oh. My. God! Ladies! I remember you!! Do you remember me?!?” he exclaimed in his best Tan France impression. Faisal said it so confidently that Sean actually thought they knew each other. Surprisingly the women did too - they accepted him instantly and he sat down with them, pretending to chat and gossip as they all laughed and hugged each other. A few moments later, Faisal said his goodbye’s and left.

Sean paid the bill and got up to leave. It didn’t look like Faisal took her phone, or anything out of her bag. He thought that maybe Faisal wasn’t able to steal anything, or maybe he had second thoughts about stealing from the nice women. Sean kind of hoped Faisal didn’t take anything at all, but at the same time, he was morbidly fascinated with the whole illegal affair.  He pushed open the door and walked towards the pickpocket, who was standing on the corner.

Then a little voice spoke up in Sean’s mind. What the fuck are you doing? It asked. You should just walk away. This man commits crimes. Is this who you want to associate yourself with? Is this how you’re going to achieve your dreams? What would your mother think?

Sean shook the voice out of his head as he approached Faisal. The man grinned wickedly.

“Wanna see what I got?” Faisal asked, smile spreading ear to ear. “I took the earrings right off her pretty little head.” Sure enough, he unclenched his fist to reveal 2 sparkling diamond earrings. 

Sean’s mouth hung agape. “H-how did you do that?!” he stammered. “That’s not possible!”

“Not only is it possible, but very lucrative. Stealing is the best business - no overhead, high prices, and if you’re good, very little risk.” 

Sean hesitated, then finally spoke his mind. “I’m sure it is a good business, but stealing is wrong! It’s immoral! Don’t you feel bad for the people you’re stealing from? Don’t you want to work hard and live the American Dream?”

Faisal spat on the ground. “The American Dream? Are you fucking kidding me? Get real. If you think this is a country where everyone has an equal opportunity, you’re even more dense than I thought. My father came here from Pakistan hoping for the opportunity to work really hard and make it. And you know what happened?” Sean shook his head. “The bankers refused to give him a mortgage loan because he didn’t understand English well enough. He was rejected from every job he applied for because nobody wanted a Middle Eastern man working for them. Even when he got his own street cart selling coffee, he was run out of business by an Italian guy who had a nicer cart and better coffee; things he bought with the money passed down by his rich white ancestors. Lemme tell ya Sean, the American Dream is a load of horse shit.”

Sean was stunned into silence.

“That’s why I made my own American Dream. It’s called ‘If you want something, take it.’ That’s what all your heroes did, right? All the Wall Street suits? They all want to get rich, so they cheat and steal and defraud their way to the life that they want. It’s not wrong if everyone’s doing it! Admit it Sean - if you just ‘work hard’, you’re gonna be packing your bags back to Ohio within a year. Is that what you want? Or do you want to take the life that you want?”

Twenty years of conservative Catholic ideologies pounded in Sean’s head. He could hear his parents chastising him for taking his little brother’s toys, feel the nun’s ruler on his hand in Catholic School when he got caught cheating on a test, smell the incense in church while the priest discussed how to be a good and moral person. 

But then Sean saw all of the possibilities. He envisioned himself reclining in his penthouse overlooking the East River. He heard the clink of glasses at the club with other executives and corporate hustlers. He felt the weight of a stack of money in his hands. Maybe my parents were wrong, he pondered. Maybe in order to get where I want, I have to break a few rules.

“I don’t know...maybe you’re right.” Sean reluctantly conceded.

Faisal was visibly pleased. “Atta boy! I knew you were a real New Yorker at heart!”

Sean felt a little guilty at how much he enjoyed hearing that. “So, what now?”

“Let’s meet back here tomorrow,” Faisal said jovially. “I’ll teach you a thing or two about getting ahead in this city.” He extended a hand.

Sean shook it. “See you tomorrow then,” he replied, and turned and walked back towards Times Square. 

After Sean had disappeared from view, Faisal turned down a nearby alleyway. It was dark and secluded. He tossed the diamond earrings in a garbage can, whistling a merry tune.

“Another day, another soul,” he chuckled to himself.

Faisal took off his jacket and stretched his arms in a big, just-got-out-of-bed type stretch. 3-foot red wings unfurled from his back, bony and menacing. He reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out a long tail with black fur on the tip, which flicked back and forth seemingly with a mind of its own. When Faisal pushed back his mop of black stringy hair, the filed-down remains of horns could be seen poking out of the top of his forehead.

There was a scream behind him, from the street. A little girl was looking down the alley and caught sight of him in all his glory. Faisal winked at her, leapt into the air, and flew into the New York City smog.