Johnny was at the brothel having a fun time. He loved redheads and he always met with his favorite girl Shawna. This was one of the many brothels he frequented but Shawna made him keep coming back. They had just finished up their session, Johnny paid his money and left. He opened the old heavy doors, and felt the cold air brush against his face. He loved the cold, and he loved being in New York. Chicago and Detroit came close, but nothing beats New York.

He searched in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes but his pockets were empty. Fuck, he thought he always carried a pack of cigarettes with him at all times. He knew smoking was bad but he couldn't stop. He was hooked ever since the age of 16. He loved the smell and always thought he looked cool whenever he smoked. Johnny walked down to the nearest bodega right down the street. He placed a dime on the counter.

"Lemme get a pack of luckies."

The fat man behind the counter nodded took the dime and handed Johnny a pack of Lucky strike cigarettes. On his way out of the bodega he pet the cat that lived in the store. Now outside again Johnny took out his cigarette and lit it. Just right then a car driving slowly down the street rolled down it's windows and started shooting at him.

Johnny ducked and hid he waited until the car left then waited a little longer in case they came back. When he thought the coast was clear he hailed the nearest cab and told him to take him to a place in Queens since Brooklyn wasn't safe. There was a hit out on his head. Someone wanted Johnny dead.