The Q train emerged from the tunnel from Manhattan to cross the Manhattan Bridge. The subway car was crowded with 4 O'Click commuters. Standing room only. A young black poet ranted an indecipherable rap, weaving through the passengers, as his scrowcrow body snapped arms, legs, and shoulders to the 4/4 staccato timbali beat in his head. People gave Jass' moves room. Somee had seen his show before and held out dollars. He snatched the bills and nodded his thanks. Mid-bridge Jass hit the extro, as the train entered the Brooklyn tunnel.
"I'm bad, I'm bad, but I ain't no good."
Thirty seconds from the next stop Jass thanked the other passengers and threaded through the cars waving his left to distract attention from his cobra swift slip into two targeted backpacks belonging to oblivious phone texters.
Getting off the train his eyes met with an older white man in a black suit at the opening doors. His gaze was not that of casual interest. He man had clocked something. The old man's eyes were faster than Jass' hands. This was not good and the young man strofe onto the platform without turning around to check, if the old man was following him. He stripped off his shirt and slipped into a non-descript hoodie, then dropped on a Yankees lid, rendering him anonymous to most whites.
A Manhattan-bound A train was pulling into the station Jass ditched his previous shirt i to the trash. He struck the two ipads into his bag. The Q train's doors opened and his eyes left-righted the platform. No sign of the old man. He sat in the subway car and breathed easy.
(to be continued)
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