It’s the mid-1940s, nearing the end of WW2. You work telegraphs at the harbor and randomly, you decide to take a different way home.

Near you, a boy who works at the same harbor, sits on his porch with a cigarette.

As you walk through the neighborhood, a man whistles at you.

The boy came rushing over, holding a switchblade to his throat, threatening him. The man backs off.

“The goddamn hell you think you doin’ out he’e?” He puts his arm around your shoulder, attempting to walk you home.