[He hears him. He doesn't look round (it's still an absurd line of questioning and it occurs to him that Steve Rogers doesn't know what to say. That's jarring, in its way, against whatever he knows of him.
(What does he know of him?)
He knows these streets. He knows that Rogers would call it the old neighbourhood, but that in his own head its just Brooklyn, a grid of brownstones and high rises and redevelopments that won't unravel into meaning. But he's walked the streets, learned or relearned them, and he's sure there's something behind all the new glass veneers and under the cleaned up sidewalks. Something he just can't see.
He's learned these streets, or relearned them, spent whole nights crisscrossing through roads and back alleys. Over rooftops, down rows of rickety stairs. There are just a few crumbling places, grafitti covered and fly postered, where the air smells like something he might once have known.
He walks ahead of Steve, but he's not trying to slip away.
He turns down one of those alleys, and then he stops. It's one of those places where the brickwork's crumbled and old, and high up on the wall where the flat level of a fire rail used to be, there's a few letters etched in childish scrawl.
JBB |||||||| ||| SGR |
The man Steve's following stops. He doesn't look round.]
no subject
(What does he know of him?)
He knows these streets. He knows that Rogers would call it the old neighbourhood, but that in his own head its just Brooklyn, a grid of brownstones and high rises and redevelopments that won't unravel into meaning. But he's walked the streets, learned or relearned them, and he's sure there's something behind all the new glass veneers and under the cleaned up sidewalks. Something he just can't see.
He's learned these streets, or relearned them, spent whole nights crisscrossing through roads and back alleys. Over rooftops, down rows of rickety stairs. There are just a few crumbling places, grafitti covered and fly postered, where the air smells like something he might once have known.
He walks ahead of Steve, but he's not trying to slip away.
He turns down one of those alleys, and then he stops. It's one of those places where the brickwork's crumbled and old, and high up on the wall where the flat level of a fire rail used to be, there's a few letters etched in childish scrawl.
JBB
|||||||||||SGR |
The man Steve's following stops. He doesn't look round.]