Following the cracked concrete plated walkway and storm drain in sun-burned color along the front door thresholds of barbershops, grocery stores, and semi-basement apartments with spike fences mingle with broken glasses stick on duck tapes on the top, set at the entrance of open stairs. Above those are the brick apartments with iron cages by the dusky windows, three floors high graffitis around the bulky air conditioners that are louder than the shuts of market stalls on the small plaza across the street.

Not too far off from Stynx, about 2 miles west of it, close to the blurry line between Disalos and the Lanes.

A group of inbreed looking on cobblestone stairs to the doorstep of a public housing looked me up and down while I walk past. A skinny brown skin on the fourth stair whistles a high note at me, his eyes set on the violin case I'm carrying in my left hand.

"Ey chino! Conseguiste ese abrigo en el depósito de chatarra?" He shouts, they laughed, as unoriginal as it was.

"Ay, justo al lado de donde tu padre te dejó cuando eras niño!" Two steps away from them, I bawl and lengthen the sentence, by the time it's finished, I caught the eyes of two passersby and an old man on wooden stool by his fruit stall.

Thought the attention would make them behave but a chill down my spine signaled I'm wrong, those four are really fucking keen on sleeping on ICU beds. A series of rapid footsteps of leather and plastics on concrete approach me followed by low mumbles of swears.

For the love of fucking hell.....

I drop the violin case on the ground and put my right hand in jacket pocket, fingers twirling the cold steel while counting the steps behind me.

The guys' hand gripped my left shoulder the same moment I got the brass knuckle on.

"The fuck did you said?" I intentionally stood still and tense up my back and shoulder as if I'm unease by it.

The guy's arm hangs by the third stair while he's sitting on the fourth, safe to say he's got a longer reach. Keeping it in mind I let him drag me around while moving my right foot forward bringing both to our arm's reach.

The guy's a notch taller than me. Wearing a black tank top. Butch cut, narrow jaw, cheap chains, cheaper watch. A pair of eyes got a sick thrill hidden behind anger like I'm what he's been waiting for the whole day, under those is a big nose, ugly and wide. It's almost like an invitation to sunk it but today ain’t his day, I'm in a bad mood.

I grip the cold steel in my palm, dart my eyes to his open throat for a single second and to his three lankies behind, then back to him.

He probably has a piece too, but that outfit ain't suitable for concealed carry, if he has one it's got to be strapped on his belt, close to the hip.

Breath in, breath out.

I put on a big smile and pick a joyfully tone.

"I said, would you like to take a moment to praise your lord and savior? Or maybe donate something to the kids in Africa?" The guy's eyelids twitched as confusion came into his eyes. One of his boys turned and look at his friend who shrugs in response.

"De que hablas pendejo?" His left hand came at my shirt and I let the soon-to-be PVS grip it and drag me closer to his face.

"Oh.....Pensé que sería bueno para ti pronto..." I drag the last syllabus on to make it a question, the confusion in his eyes is now palpable.

Three things happen at the next second. First, the moron said something but I wasn't paying attention because. Second, behind him and his pals, down the staircases they were sitting on. Came a familiar figure in red and black. Third, I put my right fist with the brass knuckles on back in pocket.

"Ey puta!" A deep roar came behind them which confirms my suspicion. Not sure if I'm glad seeing him....

A man of ...... statue, came barraging through the thugs like an adult through ball pit. Standing at least 2 meters tall, the man in black and red blocks out the sun and casts his shadow on both me and the tank top fellow.

The giant places a hand on the man's shoulder to turn him around much like how he did me seconds ago. The tank top guy was going to say something but chokes it when he notices his mates aren't backing him up anymore and there are traces of wiped blood around the knuckles of the hand on his shoulder. And because the size of it too.

"Take a walk."

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Man of few words as always, but with the statue that's all it takes as the guy couldn't even bring himself to give me a warning glare. He lets go of my shirt and fucks off with the rest of his little group.

I fix my shirt up, pick up the case, raise my head at the warden's face and all of a sudden I'm not sure of what to do.

"I had it." Really not the best way to say thank you, but that's what came out of my mouth.

"They had y'all too." Hazel color eyes narrowed either by his eyelids or simply the angle, he darts them at me then at the distant. Took seconds to find what he was referring to.

About eight or ten parking spaces away, at the corner of an ally, the reinforced bump of a black and yellow patrol car.

A cold sweat rolls down my back as I think about how much hassle I'll go through if they pinch me. I turn my head back and signs internally.

"Thanks ...... You doing sides now?" Nodding at his blood-stent hand, I ask. The big guy wrinkled up his face in a strange way that it took a second for me to understand he's frowning.

"Sorting nuisances." Rubbing the still red stain on his knuckles he lets out a hum.

He walked out of the building entrance those fuckers were occupying while I caught everybody on the streets attention.......

Love thy fucking neighbors.

"Made your day easier huh?" A smirk crawled on my face. Another hum, but this time it sounds like a dry laugh.

"You going to Stynx ?"

"Nah. Not now at least. Got to pay uncle a visit first."

"The old man?"

"Yeah."

"Shop's closed since noon." I let out a laugh.

Of course it was.

"Figure I'd still drop by."

Another hum from the giant and, at that one milli seconds, his gaze jumps back to me from the street, I caught him sizing me up and down like a butcher would at a chuck of fat between muscles of a beef side.

"Take it easy kid." With that and a nod, the big guy walks off toward the setting sun, dragging his shadow behind him.

I crack my left shoulder joints as the weight of the violin case is making my arm sore and my hands sweaty. Sliding the brass knuckle off, I pulled my right hand and found a purple line across four fingers and stiffness around the knuckles preventing me from closing my fist.

I shake the uneasy feeling that's been piling up today. Javier's place is a couple of turns away. I told myself as I hit the road again, the last of setting sun casts a mutilated shadow in front of me before the neon lights of sex shops and Halloween costume stores overpower it, and stretch one into five equally uncanny shades of me. I take off the shades, don't need it now.

***

Night falls, it gently announces the hiding is over, do what you want, the world is yours.

Unlike the carnival of Lesnaya or Glen Avenue, the changes in the night of lanes are more subtle. More natural, as if this is what she looks like and the dark simply shed off its clothes, leaving her naked....not that she was wearing much in the first place.

The quiet jazz pubs, smoke enlace dark alleys full of junkies at the height of their life, booths behind booths behind the bar counters and club upstairs, the little something under the dated newspapers of kiosks, the outdoor steak joints with men and women in poker faces gauging down food like it's their last before walking off leaving precisely 88 cent tip on the table.

The nine-to-fives who still had some juice left would rip off the tie, change their blazer, and call those who do too. Heading for one of the host clubs downtown or try to pick up some platinum hair chick at Noch. Those that are beat would walk a few more block to supermarket for cans of tuna on sale, go back, lock the doors. The neighbors know damn well at night, the streets of Faust are all sorts of trouble.

As for folks like me, this is when we get to work, slip-outs here and there, a couple of drinks and new friends at Stynx, or a confession at the church before strapping their piece close to belts, praying for none but an easy night and to steal some sleep before dawn.

The details are where it stood out from all the other fuck up places in this city. The conflicting and contradicting stories this place told, one of bustling resigned, of a yearning to scream. Look closely, it's in the dropped smiles between mates, on the faces behind the neons, the shape of sparks on blue plastic lighters, all of their eyes.

Just past six, I walk down the steadily more crowded pavement for a few more blocks, trying to remember where the fuck's pawn shop since it has been a while. The unreliable memories led me to a crossroad by a mechanic shop.

Ann spots me from across the traffic lights so do I. She cocks her head at an extremely long alleyway that will eventually lead to the church but take 11 minutes minimum.

I give her a sorry smile and point my right index finger at watch on wrist and metaphorically slit my throat with it. She smirks with teeth out, lips apart and closed.

Lights turned green with the image of a gentleman with cane and top head shines, crowds from both sides move towards each other. Walking by each other, Ann taps her forehead with her index and middle finger together while her thumb pressing ring finger. And salutes them towards me with a smile. I grin and return the same blessing.

***

Took a few wrong turns and cutting through the closing Saint Michael market multiple times. But I found it.

Vieja Tórtola.

Between two bored-looking whores in the longest skirts I've seen today with iron rings on their pinkies. And a couple of fellows sitting on monoblocs, laughing under the pulsing red neon of a pig strolling with a smile on its face and the lower half of it as skeleton.

The sign is so damn eye-catching and ludicrous that most would overlook the petty little shop with iron cages on its bay window and a solitary door as its front.

Take a peek and you'll find anything you can think of through the windows and bars, gold watches, electronic guitars, jewelry, DVD player, martini glasses, Barbie dolls without clothes, a painting of Bodhisattva hanging next to a fucking bust statue of Abraham Lincoln (that one's not for sale). It's like looking through a kaleidoscope while on skag.

Above that, and the steel door with a sliding peephole. Is a massive sign in italics spelling the name of pawnshop. With descriptions in hard font like Buy, sale, pawn gold, diamonds, automobiles, antiques and more...... squeezed in the space left on the tarnished yellow billboard.

The place became part of the background naturally with its brick structure, adorned with rebar and red neon sign of 'closed' behind the window which enhances its brightness.

The limbos and rows of taxis rush by, the whores on the sidewalk, the happy red pig next to it, the muscles in front of butcher shop checking every punk who gave more than a glance at the rings and trinkets on the pawn shops' display, and everything on the bustling street of lanes are encouraging you to overlook that cramped little shop by the side.