As your walking around collecting your means on a nice brisk sunny day.  With the beautiful flowers and birds chirping dogs barking and another man getting beat up down a back alley. You, you lucky person stumble up on a diary. Scribbled on the front of this soft black leather case is LEFTY TWO GUNS.  You can open it now or you can open it later, but when you do what is inside reads like this.
 

Growing up in Hell's Kitchen in the early years was hell. Most the time in the summer when all the gangsters where out,
It felt like you was in a Kitchen. Not just because it was hot but just the pressure it put on you. You got to think
this place was run by the Irish the German's too. There where a small community of Italians at the time but the 
potato eating fuckers, the Irish where everywhere and for a young Italian immigrant to get caught out during the day or night you
better have a few friends with you or at least a gun or maybe a knife. There wasn't no running away, they didn't forget you
and they would get you again. It was like sharks in bloody water just waiting on wounded prey to feast upon. If you hit
that shark hard enough he might turn his head and go the other way. This was the life I was born into who knew where it would
take me.


You either fell fast asleep or your memory is worse than you thought because that is all you can remember reading.

You find the book night stand of your luxury and lavish bedroom and pick it up again. Turning on the bedside lamp, you begin to read.

Hell’s Kitchen runs from west of 8th Avenue to the Hudson River and north and south from 34th Street to 59th street. 
Though there were pockets of German, Italian, and Jewish immigrants, the Irish took ownership of the neighborhood, for 
lack of a better term. Work often consisted of building railroad lines, slaving in tanneries, and working the docks on 
the West Side; not exactly jobs for the faint of heart. After a gruesome set of murders and riots in 1881, the Hell’s Kitchen 
name stuck.  So you can see how someone like me, had to get tough and I mean real fast. I formed a small child hood crew that
consisted of me Charlie, Mario, and Roberto. We where small in the early years we where kids. We didn't have alot of numbers but 
we did learn how to fight. We also never left the house with out the other it was like clock work, like we knew when each other
was about to step outside.  The Irish kid's where Patrick he was the leader, Cornelius, Daniel, and John. The Jews tough Kids
where Abraham, Benand, and Sam. There where some other stragler you would face but this was the main crew of young teens causing
the trouble. Patrick was the son of the local Boss Connor MacManus. Abraham was the son of Local Jewish leader Hyman Amberg. These
kids was getting away with murder.  
 

You set the book down and got ready for today. Getting up shaving putting your make up on, getting naked getting the shower whatever it is you do.  You get done start to get dressed and go to walk out the door, but wait shit you forgot the book you go back and get it off the night stand and put it in your pocket. Walking back through your house, you trip over the cat and you shoot that MFer.. Na i was just playing you go to the door and twist the knob, walk out close it and go down the stairs. Your car is waiting with the driver. You get in sit down and get drove around the streets. You slip your hand in your pocket and pull that book out and start to read again.

I lived over on 42nd Street so did Charlie and Mario thats how we knew each other, but Roberto lived on 50th. 46th Street was
where Benand and Sam lived apart of the Jewish gang running around and we had to cross that to get to Roberto or he to us so 
we always tried to avoid them if possible if it was just one of us, because they where always in numbers too. It was rare you caught
anyone with out the another. The streets where tough new ppl wanted to join and if you didn't you got beat, maybe you even wore the wrong
socks one day it could be a very bad sin and you didn't go to church to pray about it. One day crossing 46th Benand caught Roberto 
out and beat the fuck out of him with Abraham and sam just because he wasn't Jewish. That's how Charlie Mario and I got to know him
we seen this fat but stocky kid with greasy black hair and rags for clothes bleeding from his nose and mouth huntched over as he walked
looking down at the grown spitting and wiping his mouth as he walked. Charlie Mario and I ran over to see what happen Mario remembered
him from school. Mario rings out Roberto is that you? What happen. Some fucking Jews jumped me for my shoes and said I didn't belong on 
46th street the fucking cowards. Roberto replied. Charlie was always quick tempered he looked over and said We stick togethor or next time
it might be one of us. Roberto still bleeding smiles real big with blood all over his yellow teeth and puts his hand on Charlie shoulder.
Mario chimes in YEAH we are going to eat some Jews tonight. 

The driver informs you, you have arrived at your destination. We are here boss he say's. You stuff the book back in your pocket thinking. This is not a bad read.