With a lull in his step, with ragged clothes and a taxi driving off as he is left in New York, he looks towards all the people that inhabit it, getting back from his year long holiday - Scratchy takes it upon himself to visit the bagel shop, noticing that there' alot more people with Bodyguards, and alot more fiends on the street - he decides to call one of his friends. Stepping into a Phone box, with pennies flooding out of his shaking hand as the cold starts to get to him;

"H-hey buddy, w-whats happened, e-everything's changed," Scratchy speaks in an innocuous tone,

"It's gone bat shit crazy everywhere, your in the thick of it Scratchy," A muffled voice follows through,

"H-hey! I don't t-take shit from a-anyone, I was the leader of the Ninnies!" Scratchy say's, with an ounce of pride,

"The what?" The Muffled voice questions,

"Th-the Nin-" Being interrupted by the person on the phone, "What the hell is a Ninnies?" Scratchy slams the phone in the box he's in several times as a cop walks around the corner hearing the noise and his frantic curses towards the inanimate object. With the Cops hand heavily on Scratchies shoulder.

Four hours pass as the two charges; 'Destroying public property' and 'Resisting arrest' just for laughs, he got everything sorted out from every mob's 'friend' , Scratchy takes to the streets, towards another Taxi which he takes to Chicago - knowing some people he knew and will begin to know, he steps off the plane and breathes a deep breath - as he starts coughing from all the pollution;

​​​​​​​"I miss the lights.."

Taking in a deep breath once more, getting his fragile lungs used to the heavy air, Scratchy finds a nice little spot in the South side of town, he starts to nervously scratch his neck as an old habit. Getting back into old roots causes him to stress alot - especially how it all went down last time. 

Knowing the lay of the land - the memory sticks like the lead on the roadways that connect Chicago together - with readings of his father journals, the rituals have changed and so have the people of the old and new. With the same knowledge, getting into the routes felt like clock-work - in no time Scratchy was already collecting for his Boss, Karen.

With Scratchy waking up early to do his errands, he sets off, walking out into the cold, he tugs on his ragged clothes with a patched half singed on his left shoulder - finding the pizzeria that's two months due. With him walking into the joint with a anxious smile on his face - Scratchy approaches the counter as a large greased boulder enthusiastically welcomes him;

'Welcome my friend! Come in, Come in!" Taking a pause, the large man starts to click his finger towards a colleague, "Giacamo! You lazy piece of-" Cutting himself off, he turns to Scratchy as Giacomo with a basket of bread sticks and a dulled face takes a chair, placing it near the shops window.

'H-hey, I'm here about a-" Scratchy, being cut off by the enthusiastic chef, pauses as things unfold,

"Whatsa matter with you eh? You've gotta weird way of talking - you've gotta enjoy life my man, and the only way is with my food!" The enthusiastic hairball of a person orders for scratchy, taking out a ball of doe and starting to roll with a rolling pin, "Sit! Sit! It'll take you to your childhood!"

Confused an bewildered with what happened and what is - Giacomo takes Scratchy by the left arm, almost dragging him towards the table;

"B-but I-" Before Scratchy could say another word, a list of drinks appear in front of him, Scratchy then points towards the third option without knowledge of what he chose - as the words whizz off with Giacomo's seemingly bad waiter classes, "W-well I am h-hungry, maybe.. I gu-guess," Scratchy echo's alone as the smell of tomato fills the air and his keen eye meets the drips of sweat piling onto 'his' pizza.

With the steam from the pizza being planted on his minuscule table - Scratchy is approached by the enthusiastic hairball that evolved, greased face;

"Takea bite! Takea bite, it'll be the best you've ever had, I swear on my mothers mother!" Not trying to displease the large man who served him food, Scratchy takes one slice of the pizza as the thick cheese struggles to lift from the plate - eventually reaching to his lips Giacamo fills a large glass of wine, seemingly from what he picked earlier. With a single bite, it was actually nice - the flavour didn't take him to his childhood, as it wasn't that adventurous as what was represented by the very food he was eating yet that anxious side really wanted to get out on why he was really there:

"I-It's good, I-I don't think I could eat a-all of it," Scratchy says in a faint voice,

"See Giacamo! He loves it," The large man pauses as he waves his hand to tell his colleague to move and get out of the way as he himself wobbles towards the counter with a giant smile on his face before he begins to exclaim towards Scratchy, "I'll leave you to eat!

"I-I really need to tal-" Scratchy see's the chef already walking away, looking outside - he can see the clouds approaching with people covering up - as the draft seeps into the room, the steam of the pizza fades. With the now cold pizza in front of him - Scratchy knows what he has to do, if he's going to live this life, Scratchy clenches his fist and gets up, slamming his fist down to the table, the wine glass shakes and nearly spills but Scratchy anxiously tries to stop it, spilling only some of it on his hands as the cup stabilises. Scratchy see's the Chef looking at him as Scratchy's eyes turn to, he begins to puff out his torso while in a type of stampede towards the chef and begins to speak:

"Look here, p-pal! I'm here for a reason, and I think you know what that reason is, p-protection fee, right here - right n-now" Scratchy trying to stay close, but not so close that he'll receive a black eye looks at the Chef as his smile turns into a deep frown,

"I give you the best food in Chicago, and this is how you treat me?" The Chef pauses as he takes out a small wooden box that seems to clang with coins, "Here, take what you need, but don'ta come to me thinking-your-gunna-geta' discount from me! Giacamo, get the door," the Chef exclaims as he throws an olive oil bottle towards Giacamo as it hits the wall. 

Scratchy, with a small box of notes and change and one eighth of dinner, Scratchy heads back to his apartment. Throwing down the wooden box on his coffee stained bed - he looks at the pile of ragged clothes that are covered in literal soil, encroaching the corner of his room - he decides to just lie down and wait for the phone to ring to know where to drop the moolah.