I remember this child. He was young, and strong, and cocky, but he wasn't going anywhere. I was drawn the the B.L.U.E.S. by the music, the energy, the flow of... something. It was a place to be, a place that relaxed the demons inside of me, allowed me a pause from that which I am compelled to pursue. He wasn't anything at that time, though. He was just a fixture, a portion of the ambiance, the big black guy that stood at the gates.
Now, however, he's standing at a different set of gates. He cares, he's motivated, he doesn't seem to blow things off the way he did. He's changed, in more ways than the obvious. He's still my neighbor in spirit, the streets are still a part of him, and always well be, but he is growing behind what he was, expanding beyond a world measured in blocks. He's been changing since before that mess that I saw in the alley, before being destroyed by one beast, and given a chance to continue by another beast, but now he IS a beast... and it is changing him. And changing me. I find myself drawn to this man, this "GT". Before, he was a child; now, he is a man, and there is something about him that intrigues me, drives me, rules me.
Yesterday I was scared. I've never before ventured into that den of beasts, but I found myself compelled to follow. Being able to move during the day was the only reason I could succeed, I was able to find a place above to hide, and to observe. The tools of technology let me listen, but it was muddled, and busy. My child did well, in spite of what appears to be a very dangerous position. He too watches, and learns. He too sees the flows of people, the moth-like souls drawn to a very few torches. Yet, he also sees those that move between the lights, those beings that pull the powerful together... or drive them apart. He will do well, and he is already casting about for allies, and learning who his real enemies are. Yes, he will do well.
I also wonder what tomorrow will bring. He's been very active in the blocks around his home, visiting that ganger, and going to an apartment I've not been in. Looking through the windows shows me only a poor, broken man in his chair, yet the child must have a use for him... somehow. Something is happening, but I know not what. I wonder if it has to do with that other gang... that Hispanic one, calling themselves the Tigres. He has been brutal to them, but he has not killed. He feeds on them, nightly, brutally, leaving them leaning on the walls, knocked out in the snow. He takes their money, weakens their spirits, takes of their lives, but he does not kill. Yet.
"What of the others?" I find myself asking this often. How do these others around him interact with him? How will they change his life? Are they the cause? Are they holding him back? How will this group of unlikely friends change my city tonight? Many many questions remain to be answered, and I need these answers; now more than ever I am driven to seek, discover, and control.
