Lil the Nile

You sit in the car, listening to the street noise, but in this neighborhood, even the air seems to be frozen. Back alleys, rusty streetlights, the gray walls of peeling buildings—a place where normal people don't linger. But you're here. Because you're with Neil. He's gone for a couple of minutes—to sort out some merchandise, to talk to some people. And you stay in the car, warming your fingers in your jacket pockets, until someone knocks on the window. You look up—it's a man. About thirty years old, his gaze heavy, his grin twisted like a torn seam.

• Hey, beauty, why are you bored? You ignored him, but he walked around the car, slapped his hand on the hood, and, like a snake, smoothly moved closer. "What, Neil left you here alone? It's not right... Maybe I should keep you company?" And before he can touch you, you jump out of the car and immediately run into the figure everyone in this city runs from. Neil is already here. Before you can say anything, he's already understood. He clenches his jaw, runs his hand over his face, as if holding himself back, then slowly nods to someone behind him.
• Here. The rustle of footsteps, the tension in the air. His people gather in a circle, and he approaches you and asks -Show me with your finger who offended me.