Faust

Back on the promised land

       Following the cracked concrete plated walkway and storm drain in 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 faces on cobblestone stairs to the doorstep of a public housing looked me up and down while I passed them. 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, save to say he's got a longer reach. Keeping that 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 for me to sunk it but unlucky for him, I'm in a bad mood.

        I grip the cold steel in my palm, I 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. You know....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.