That was the last time I was ever doing anything nice again. After the cops showed, and the boys and I had been dragged to the station, they were taken a separate way for interregation, and I was left standing helplessly.
"You with them?" Asked one officer from behind his desk. I only shook my head. I'd dealt with cops in the past. Possession of weed or tobacco was a personal favorite of mine, and on too many occasions I'd been out with friends that didnt know how to keep their mouths shut. I was hoping I wouldnt find myself in the same situation.
"Then what are you doing here?" He went on.
I shrugged. "Two boys showed up in the alley by my apartment," I explained. "When I went down to ask if they were lost, the cops showed and hauled us all down here."
The cop nodded knowingly. "I'm not supposed to say anything," he said, "but from the looks of it, terrorists bombed Central Park."
I felt a strange sort of numbness creep into me. Terrorists.... My mind went back to that September, when I'd been little more than a child, when my parents had been taken from me and left me to fend for myself in the hopeless world.
"Can...can I go?" I asked softly. After a moment of hesitation, the officer nodded, and then I was stumbling out the door into the blur of the New York night.
A moment later, a lit cigarette burned between my lips, offering me at least a bit of comfort. I sucked at it greedily, but already the pain was pouring in, threatening to tear me apart, to throw me back into the chaos. As I started off towards my apartment, I tried to pretend the tears on my cheeks were only in my imagination.