Figuring his motorcycle might draw too much attention, Won rode his Triumph home then got on the Q line to Flatbush. He’d grown to enjoy riding the train. Before he retired the only time he’d stepped into a subway car was when it was a crime scene. Now he liked looking at what people were wearing, what they were reading, or how they wore their hair. He kept his phone in his pocket and his earbuds out so he could eavesdrop on conversations. He enjoyed the distraction of everyday people. It made some uncomfortable, but it was his way of detoxing his years of perpetrators and victims.
Won walked up the steps from the subway station to an unfamiliar street lined with dollar discount stores and hole in the wall Chinese takeout spots. Hispanic men wearing loose bike helmets sat on taped-up electric scooters, mumbling into their cell phones while waiting to get a delivery order. Across the street clogged with impatient vehicles a gaggle of orthodox Jewish teenage boys in black knee-length coa…
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