“Hey Tony,” Clay said. Tony came in almost every day for cigarettes, and Clay had worked enough doubles to know him by sight. Clay grabbed a couple of packs and slid them across the counter. “What’s up?” Clay had heard that Tony was something in local gang culture, but half of his customers had gang tattoos. Tony shook his head. “I dunno,” he said. “Something wrong?” Clay said, and cursed himself. Old habits die hard. Ask what was wrong in this neighborhood and the problems could drown you like a wave. Tony shrugged. “I’ve just got a funny feeling.” Clay could sympathize. These days, he kept his eye on the security camera, watching for his friendly neighborhood killer to show up for a chat. He imagined that kind of feeling was par for the course for people like Tony. “I dunno,” Tony shook his head. “No big deal, I guess.” “You’re looking sharp,” Clay said. Tony grinned and ran his hand across his newly shorn scalp. “Got a hot date with Sarah.” “You go, Casanova,” Clay said. Tony laughed. “It’s all smooth, man.” “See ya tomorrow,” Clay said. Nice kid, he thought. In another world he would have ended up in college, maybe a business degree and a decent job. Instead he’s coming up fast through the middle management of the street. The street finds its own uses. Too bad it burns them up so fast.
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