They were laughing. As I recall they never stopped, although that could just be perception. They took me to a burnt-out tenement halfway down the block. They told me if I begged they'd let me go. I knew better. On the first floor, up two flights of nearly fire-destroyed, charcoal-blackened stairs, in an obviously inhabited apartment, there was a filthy mattress and a chest of drawers. My hands were tied in front of me with wire. There were five of them, all still laughing. Something was very amusing, although I still fail to see the joke. I guess I just have no sense of humor. I was bleeding from my right ear, where one of them had hit me with a board, damn near knocking me unconscious. I refused to cry, even when they unbuckled my pants and I was tossed face down onto the mattress.
Brooklyn Heat Lasts Forever
