May 26th, 1986

The night was as gloomy as any other spring day in the Bronx. The homeless rummaging through the back alleys for pieces of food, clothing and spare change. Anything they could get their hands on. The rain and hail pounded on the rooftops and walls of buildings and houses. Dead of the night was lurking through the corners. People shuddered and ran for shelter as the streets began to flood. The horns honking from the distance as traffic was trying to move.

            The wet pattering from a man and a woman running through the rain in a hurry echoed through the alleys. The woman was wearing a beige trench coat, and had beautiful red hair that was flowing behind her. Her husband was tall and muscular. His tousled hair was drenched by the rain. He wore a tailored suit, with a long leather trench over top, but under his arms was a small bundle of cloth. The echoing of their footsteps and panting continued to echo every alleyway.

            “Мед, мы не можем не хотел бы этого.” (English translation: Honey, we can’t keep running like this) The woman spoke breathlessly.

            “Но мы должны найти место для него.: (but we must find him a home) the husband replied softly. Looking down into his arms as he gazed into his son’s eyes. His heart broke, but he knew it wouldn’t be safe to keep him in such a dangerous life style.

            “Они правы позади нас!” (they’re right behind us!)

            “Больше слушай, меньше говори.” (be swift to hear, slow to speak)

They turned the last corner in a hurry. A flash of light. Beading at the couple. The doors of the black vehicle swung open and the dark bodies had emerged.

            “Lev my friend, where are you going?” The dark figure announced


to be continued...