Killing Harry
The punk kid slouched against the broken street light on 102nd Street obviously thought I was in the wrong neighborhood. Six years I’ve been in the City, but people still pick me out for a sucker. I guess it’s true what they say, you can take the girl off the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl. Or something like that. It generally works out to my advantage, except in dark alleys.
The kid sticks a hand in the front pocket of his hooded Black Death sweatshirt and pries himself off the pole. “Fancy lady like you,†he leers, “maybe you need some help crossing the street?â€
“Look,†I say, “you sure as hell don’t look like a boy scout and I’m really not in the mood.â€