Stepping out of the convenience store, the cold air hit us like a slap. The city around us is constantly moving—tires splashing through puddles, distant voices merging with the hum of traffic. Denny walked beside me, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
We made our way down the cracked concrete steps leading into the metro station. Commuting was second nature to me by now. Living in Brooklyn and going to college in Manhattan wasn't ideal, but my options were limited. The school was one of the few that accepted me, my only other choice being some overpriced school out in Jersey. So, every day, I took this long ride across boroughs, switching between different trains, weaving through crowds of strangers just to get from one life to the next.
The turnstiles beeped aggressively as we swiped in, and we stepped onto the platform. My train wasn't coming for another few minutes, so we leaned against a pillar, the rumbling of an approaching train growing louder.
Denny broke the silence first. "How's your mom doing?"
I hesitated, staring at the tiled walls.. "She's... fine. For now." My fingers drummed against the strap of my bag. "Thanks for asking, man."
Denny nodded, his face unreadable. "Yeah. She's strong. But you know, if you ever need… I mean, if things get worse, you come to me, alright?"
My throat tightened. I glanced at him, the train lights flashing in the tunnel before the rush of wind hit us. "I got it handled," I replied, my voice firm but grateful. "But… thanks."
"What!?" Denny screamed as the Banging of the train's wheels hit the tracks.
"I said thanks!" I repeated making sure my gratitude was voiced.
"What!? I can't hear you, the train is—" I lightly elbow him as we both chuckle.
The train screeched to a stop, doors hissing open. We stepped inside, grabbing onto the cold metal poles as the car lurched forward. The seats were half-filled, a mix of exhausted workers, students, and the occasional person who seemed like they'd been riding aimlessly for hours. Denny pulled out his phone, sent a quick text, and a moment later, mine buzzed.
"That's the address," he said, voice low. "The docks. You wait by the gate at 11:15 sharp. Someone will toss you the package. After that, you'll get another text telling you where to take it. No deviations."
"Oh yeah, super legit. Not sketchy at all."
"It's for security reasons. Keeps things clean. You just need to be on time and do your part. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," I said, flashing a mocking salute.
The train slowed, and the robotic voice announced Denny's stop. He gave me a nod before stepping out.
"See you later, boss." I yelled out as the doors closed behind him, I leaned my head back against the metal bar, exhaling slowly. A few more stops to go.
The difference between Manhattan and Brooklyn's trains was stark. In the city, everything felt maintained, clean, and meant for the tourists. But once you crossed the bridge, the grime started to settle in. The seats felt stickier, the lights dimmer, the whole thing rattling like it could break down at any second. No one really cared about the neighborhoods past a certain point. That was just how it was.
Stepping out of the station, I walked past the iron gates of the projects. The buildings stretched high, old as time itself, their windows glowing faintly from outdated light bulbs. This place was alive in its own way—kids running between stairwells, old heads sitting by the benches, smoking and arguing about nothing. Police cars rolled through slowly, like they were waiting for an excuse. More often than not, they were the ones causing trouble. The local dealers knew the drill, lurking just out of reach, their presence as much a part of the environment as the graffiti on the walls.
Government assistance kept these buildings full, kept the lights on for most. Funny how I only got into college thanks to one of those government programs. TAP or whatever. Not that it helped with tuition. Between that and my mom's hospital bills, money was always stretched too thin.
I reached my building, the night had settled deep. Near the entrance, flowers and candles surrounded a faded picture of some guy from the block who had been killed recently. It wasn't the first memorial here.
By the time I reached my apartment door, exhaustion set in. I turned on the TV, and let myself collapse onto the couch, eyes slipping shut almost instantly.