Casey Rose tumbled from the vending machine box onto the rain slicked sidewalk in Hell's Kitchen. He picked himself up and laughed as he flicked packing popcorn from his simple jeans and t-shirt. It was a welcome sight to see the young man wear such a simple outfit. Also welcome was hearing genuine laughter from the kid, not the usual forced (frightened) chuckle when a super-fan tells him that she loves him; adding she will until the day she dies. After greasing the palms of the delivery men, the truck sputtered away.
"It worked! I'm free!" Casey pumped his fists and broke the eerie silence of Hell's Kitchen.
He then took to swinging on a black, arched lamppost, "I can't believe it! Do you think V-Dawg will let me keep the Coke machine in my room when he finds out I'm gone? Hah! Who cares. I'm freeeeee!"
"Casey, not so loud," I hissed as narrow windows in grey townhouses flickered alive.
Silhouettes appeared in a few of them. Hell's Kitchen, with its reputation as a planned community of Satanists and devil-worshipers, was not the neighborhood in which to cause a late-night commotion.
