"I’m good," Kevin said immediately. "I can handle it myself. I’m a man now; I can hold my own."

Scarface burst out laughing. He counted out 150 USD from the 1,500 and handed it to Kevin. "The extra 50 is a bonus for carving out your own territory. Keep it up. When I get old, this street will be yours."

"Thanks, Boss!" Kevin said, pleasantly surprised.

Kevin took the money and left, thanking him profusely.

Once he was in the hallway, he pulled another crumpled wad of cash from inside his clothes—the 482 USD he had secretly skimmed from the price hike.

In just two hours that night, he had made over 600 USD.

When he reached his front door, Kevin stopped and turned to look at the top right corner of the doorframe. There was an image of a spiked crown—the symbol of their gang of more than ten people.

On the streets of the Bronx, this was a declaration of territory and a warning. It meant the household was under the gang’s protection, that ’one of their own’ lived inside. Messing with this place was declaring war on the entire gang.

’Did I join the gang to oppress others, or to keep from being oppressed myself?’

Kevin scratched his head. He couldn’t remember clearly anymore. His years of drug use had muddled his memory; sometimes he’d wake up and briefly forget where he was.

At least he never forgot the way home.

He quietly opened the door and slipped into the house.

His mother was asleep in the master bedroom next door—she was a hospital nurse, and the morning and evening shifts had ruined her sleep schedule. Kevin didn’t want to disturb her rare opportunity to rest.

In the room he shared with Michael, heavy, raspy snores were already coming from Michael on the bottom bunk.

Kevin climbed onto the top bunk. By the faint moonlight filtering in from the window, he reached into his jacket with trembling hands and pulled out all the money.

The crumpled wads of cash covered the space beside his pillow. Counting his previous savings, he now held over 700 USD.

Before, he would’ve had to steal several bikes or push product for days to scrape this much together. Now, it was the result of just two hours’ work.

He pulled out an old shoebox hidden in the deepest corner of his bed frame. He smoothed out the bills one by one and stacked them neatly inside. With every bill he flattened, his confidence grew.

After he was done, he shoved the shoebox back into its hiding spot. Then he pulled a small, dog-eared calendar from under his pillow.

It was a free promotional wall calendar from some auto repair shop, with a sexy bunny girl and a car printed on it.

Kevin flipped to March of the coming year. A date in the middle of the month was marked: Deadline.

Kevin didn’t understand the college admissions process in the United States of America at all. He also didn’t know the difference between pre-med and actual medical school. But in his simple, stubborn worldview, Michael’s grades were among the very best at Franklin High School. If he wanted to be a doctor, he had to go to the best school. And going to school cost lots and lots of money.

Michael hadn’t told him exactly how much it would cost, but Kevin had overheard a conversation between him and their mom. He knew it was an astronomical sum.

’When I fill this box with cash, that’ll be enough, right?’ he thought smugly.

’Then I’ll shove all this money in Michael’s face, and he’ll never be able to lecture me again. He won’t be able to hold his head high in front of me for the rest of his life.’

He closed his eyes, his mind filled with images from tonight—of those junkies frantically scrambling for a fix, and of that baby’s face, purple from the cold wind. The images filled him with a flicker of fear, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the scent of ’hope’ that seemed to rise from the shoebox full of cash and the gun in his hand.

’Just a few more scores... I just have to be careful so the Boss doesn’t find out...’