Part of story

Its more so I wont loose this chapter
Gasoline minds

Gasoline streets, soaking wet the same old pavement. The streets lamps fancy to light their way. Man there is no time to light or dark this atmosphere.
When he slides the hand into his leather jacket pocket. I know there is something I knew, and I know what comes next.
The question is do they? Eyes don't lie and the gasoline esence breaks in. Fire its the one truth bastard Uptown.

They are dealers far away from downtown's. This guys dont care if their dose is my death. Certainly don't care if my death pays less than a dose.

I see their king "Henri" staring at us, next to him their "new boy" standing close the boxes, lighting another ciggar. I could use some fogg right know. Those boxes shouldnt be here.

This is what I get for wanting better crack. This what I get for searching Uptown.This what I get for listening to him, and his bloody poetic tongue. When Johnny talks... he could get me to kill for him, and he knows so. Johnny can make anyone have strong fucking feelings. No matter what misery or extacis cross the minds, he always manage to use it.

Then there is Henri again, with his long redish hair and his jack daniels at his reach all time. Why do this dealers have such a life. Standing on his "control pose" he is gonna try to intimidate Johnny. Poor fucker Johnny could very well die, before backing out.

Henri owns this alley and everyone that steps in, and I'm not more than a client to him, there is no protection uptown. I'm Just an unhealthy white mohawked guy. Hesees me as shit, he could pretty much rob me, beat me, fuck me, and loose nothing. Nothing, atleast I'm nothing, in this dark Harlem alley.
Nothing while the old and new guys join to pile up the merchandise. Henri, Jimmy, Gina, Joey, and some others. All the slaves from this redhead brat prince, they make him believe, he can do what he please.
In many ways he can.

Yet, I know that staring at his "taxi boys" and his slender body, its clearly not getting us out of here. I don't think we would winn a fair fight, but they must have guns, and even without guns... Two skinny punks out of the village are quite an easy prey, and they are atleast 15, without the hooker. Three of them look really wasted but then again, so am I.

This is the last time you listen up to Johnny last time he convinces you.
"Yeah Rio we can steal from uptown dealers and they wont notice"
How the fuck does he manages to make that sound realistic? How the fuck do I always fall for it? How can his tongue twist that kind off words? Maybe the secret is on his maniac eyes, but I don't think so. I don't fear him, I should, but I can't.
Sometimes I wonder if it's for him, but I'm no bloody queer.

The guys have all the crack, now piled up. Those boxes shouldn't be there in the middle of the street. In the middle of the sight. That amount of crack it's just...
Shit
They wanna teach us a lesson. Godamn Johnny, how the fuck do you fight gasoline?
How the fuck can your eyes stay focus when some one is about to incinereate your brain?

Yet he is calm as hell, as I watch him turn his hand down his pocket. He is ready, he is always ready. Ready to be one. Ready to stand on his own. So his bonny fingers don't shake when he pulls it out. I'm supposed not to freak when I see the blue knife dashing on his hand. Lights don't reach our steps, and metal reflects just the far away lamps. Sharp shines on the night, ready to start.

Johnny doesn't gets that not everyone fights his way. Fight to loose, fight to fight. His chains and his fits can't always work out. Let's hope tonight is not the night. He trust his abilities, and he trusts I'll know the knife is on his back pocket... He trust I'll reach it out with extreme grace, and silent. He trusts I'll have my eye on the taxi boys and the hooker. He trusts and God I try, but.. Its all so fucked.