New York City, my home town but far from my place of birth. I don't know how things are the way they are, but that dosen't stop me from thinking about it. Most of the times, as I am told, a little to deeply.

The man puts his hand in his jacket pocket for just a second and pulls up a pack of cigrrettes lights one up and takes that first god like inhale. A feeling of euphoria overwhelms his body and brings a cold smirk to his lips.

"Feelings, just can't kill them no matter how hard I try." He said lowly to himself, thinking aloud.

Walking down the darkened streets with the occasinal lamp post to show you that your not what your everything you hate; The normalized spots of reality and clear thought.

The man continues to smiles as passes undear another lamp post, inhaling more of the perfect darkness. "New your city..." he sighed out with his exhale.

Down the random streets was the usual newyork getup. Cars were stacked practically upon one another at every conceivible place. And each one had a parking meter. It was just like Newyork to charge people who live there to park. Most of these vehicals were not in the best shape. One not far down from the smoking man had a club locked on the steering wheels, but was missing its tires and up on cinder blocks. Once again, just like Newyork should be.

What would take optional interest would be two prostitutes not too far down. Selling their bodies for cheap cash to pay up some debt of life. It would be in no small doubt that there was a cop in the area looking to ticket further crap out of such sexual employees. So it was up for one to wonder if such things were worth it.

A car drearily passed by, the prostitutes tried to flag it down to no avail. They thereafter passed across the street to try another, more populated area.

"I've come with the stash." A low voice stated suddenly from behind the lone man. The guy was standing behind a lamppost that was just passed by. He wore a leather jacket and looked like a regular punk. But what was definate is the small paper bag he began pulling from under his jacket. "Do you have the cash?" He was trying to make a transaction, presumably thinking the smoking man was planned to be a pickup.

The man stoped in his tracks with and took a nice long drag off his cigarette finishing it off. The man hazly spun on his heel with a raided eye brow. "Thats good..." He said with a smile that quickly faded away. "You know any cop could take you in for 24 hours just for being suspissious?" He said while shaking his head.

"Your a dumb little shit, you just go up to anyone don't you?" The man rached in his pocket for another cigarette glancing up at the 'street punk' a few times. Lighting his second cigarette in the last few minunites, he tilts his head up slightly at the 'street punk'. "Show me."

While being critisized, the suspicious stranger began to put the paperbag back into his pocket. It was obviously understood though movements that this was not the person he was supposed to meet for the transaction. At the same time, however, the guy's emotions were remaniscant of stone. His eyes shadowed from the lamplight by a baseball cap, words written on it to advertise some random gas station. Everything else about him stated drug abuse and filth. Fitting for the environment around them.

He didn't blink so much of an eyelash at all the insults. After all, the guy was ordered not to bring attention to himself. Getting into a fight with this random asshole would crush that rule. Another car creeped by, the guy acted natural. Which made it look like him and the man nearby were getting into a gay love dispute. "Your mother" he stated in reply after the car passed and the 'show me' was stated. Pulling the bag back out. "Nearly gave me a heart attack for a moment there." He opened the bag and pulled out a small square, well taped box. No bigger than a cd case, on it was an address, but the address was purposefully faded out and scrapped off with car keys previous to their encounter. Obviously, there was something important inside the box.

The box was placed back in the shoddy paper bag. He extended his hand. "The cash?"

Sometimes picking the diffrence between right and wrong was a hard choice, like a buzzing feeling int he beack of your head, a hive a bees stinging and ripping you apart. The man took another hit of his cigarette, the city seemed to drown out in his mind, as a comflict of good and evil raged in his mind.

"Here" He said to the street punk, handing him his closed badge as if it was his wallet his other hand ready to reach out for the item or his 9mm in his jacket. Lets just say he's a 'decent' cop'.

The man took the wallet and opened it. His face went white, looking to the smoking stranger a quick second afterwards. Breathing a few times in rapid succession. "Was this a setup? Who are you?" Seemed very unfitting for his previous demenor.

On a complete beat, cops spilled from every area imaginable. Some were hidden in cars, others were waiting on the rooftops. Others were just seemingly around the corner - though the prostitutes obviously didn't notice them when they made a run for it. One of the cops, possible a surgent, shouted, "FREEZE!" Every other cop aiming their pistols at the two by the light. The drug addicted guy was obviously frightened, but tried so hard to keep his composure.

"Where the ****** where you assholes hiding?" the suspicious scruffy guy asked the cops.

The first surgent responded, "Don't worry, Nathin. We got what we wanted to hear." Now would be the time when things were noted to be terribly wrong. Who were they aiming the guns towards?

The drug addicted man eyed the stranger with the cig. Starting to step away. A percentage of the guns were pointed at him, but not as numerous as the ones pointed at the smoking stranger who just gave his wallet away to a suspicious criminal with an unknown box.

The detective sighs softly to himself lifting his hands just slightly. What in the world is going on? he thinks to himself as a small croud of onlookers slowly forms just a few fett from the cops.

The man endlessly smoke his cigarette inhaling just a little bit with each intake of air washing over his lungs like a fine mist. "So kid, I guess you and me both are going downtown." he said, cracking a smile.

He slowly starts to lower one ahnd to remove the soon to be lifeless cigarette, a movement that was quickly followed by a shout and a shot. "Gun!" one of the cops yelled that started a barrage of shots to be fired towards. Life is so strange, sometiemes the rain turs into a shower of bullets at a moments notice. They must of seem the gun holstered under his coat when he was bringing his gun down? That or someone really wanted the man dead.

The detective was instintly hit once in his left arm and when down just as fast. Perhaps the first shot save him from the other more deadly shots that seems to magicly not hit. Shots that would of hit if he were still standing a fraction of a second longer.

The pain was more that expected, if it had been expected, but then again thats how pain is. You always forget what pain is like, it fools you into thinking it wasen't so bad once it's gone and reminds you when it's back. An awe sturck gaze flashed over the detective's face and slowly, vary slowly turned to anger.

"******!" he yelled, more than once at least putting his hand over the burnt and bleeding bullet wound on his bicep. "I'm.. a cop you..." he said panting and bleeding. "Kid... has my shield."