He led me to a door and inside where it was dark and reeking of beer and marijuana. Floorboards poked up here and there, and the smell of the river was strong. There was another room above this one, and we climbed a flight of rickety stairs.

“You like it?”

“What kind of place is this anyway, Metro? What are we doing here?”

“A friend from work told me about it.”

“But this place stinks,” I said. “It’s dangerous. You can’t even see anyone.” And I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard footsteps and whispers, saw glowing cigarette butts, the fast flame of a match. Far from us and over part of the river was a hole in the ceiling, then the roof. The whole place looked like it could collapse in a minute.

“People come here,” Metro said, “to play.”

“I don’t want anything to do with this. Let’s get out of here.” I moved to leave but couldn’t find the stairs, and when I did, I didn’t trust them to hold me.

“Jesse, please. Look, things go on here. All the time.” Metro pulled me further inside. Shadows moved about. A beer can dropped and spilled. Floorboards creaked. A chill crawled into my back.

“Look Metro, we have our own place. You and me, right?”

He said nothing.

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked.

Metro looked away from me, disappointed. Then his eyes brightened. He started to laugh. “Don’t you see? All this is part of it, what we came to New York for. The streets, the sweat, beer and cigarettes. And here? You’d walk in, anybody would walk in, hands hooked in the belt, your jeans torn just so around the crotch. You’d lean against the wood, and I’d find you, smell you waiting there. I’d kneel just so, and you’d talk dirty to me.” He laughed again and his voice chilled me. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, and that scared me all the more.