The sun was shining—almost too bright for a city that hid so much filth. The people in this city need someone they can look up to; I want to be that person.
I grabbed some trash bags on my way to Mr. Gretzky's. It's a small task, but it shows people someone cares. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up — like someone was watching me from the shadows.
Around noon I finished helping Mr. Gretzky paint his pizzeria, which opened the next day. I snuck out of the pizzeria before he could offer me money again.
As I turned down the road, an alleyway opened up to my right. Footsteps quickly appeared behind me and before I could react I was shoved into the alleyway.
"I need to speak with you in private," the man whispered. "It's about your nightly activities."
His face was scruffy and looked to be in his late thirties. His hands were large, his dark trench coat hid his broad stature. He looked caring, like how I always envisioned a father would look at his kid if he really cared about him.
"Are you a criminal?" I asked.
"No. But I know you are," he replied.
"So, you're a cop?" I stuttered.
My throat tightened up. If he's a cop, this is it. I've only ever wanted to help — to do good in my own way. If this is where it ends, then so be it. I don't regret a single thing.
"No," he said.
"What? What do you mean no? If you are here about my hobby, and you're not here to stop me, then why are you here?" I blurted out.
"You're exceptional," he said, extending his hand. "You'd fit in perfectly in a team of like-minded individuals who share your… hobby."
I swallowed hard before shaking his hand. "I've always wanted to be a part of something bigger. I'd love to join."
When I looked into his eyes, they harbored a deep sadness within, concealed behind a faint smile.