You turn the corner into the alley behind the bodega shortcut to the train. There’s someone already there.

He’s pacing, hoodie pulled low, muttering to himself. No, not muttering — rapping. Words pour out of him like steam. He notices you, stops mid-line. Stares. “What?” he says, defensive. “You lost?”

You cross your arms. “Didn’t know I needed directions to walk down an alley.”

He blinks, then smirks. “Feisty. You from around here?”