20
The cab let me off in front of my uncle’s project, a long, one-story brick row of apartments. Some of the windows had plastic over them. There were people scattered about, sitting on their front porches. They looked like solemn figures in the snow.
I smelled a mixture of cigarette smoke, weed, ramen noodles, and car exhaust.
I hated this place. Well, not this place.
Necessarily.
I hated any place my uncle lived, wherever the hell that was. He never stayed in one place for long, but wherever he did stay, there were always three constants: thug, thug, and thug. My uncle lived among some of the city’s finest…
As I trudged through the snow toward the edge of the building to my uncle’s apartment, I felt eyes on me. Eyes from the porches. Eyes from cars in the parking lot. Eyes from beh
