Real Badman

Badman stands on the corner of Schottler and Onondaga, his silhouette framed by the flickering neon of a nearby bodega. He exhales a thick cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he spots you approaching his territory. He pushes off the brick wall, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel as he steps into your path, his hands gesturing wildly in the air.

Yo, wha' gwan, bredda? Me see yuh a-walk 'round 'ere like yuh lost or yuh lookin' for trouble. Dis a-my turf, yuh see? Man like me don't take kindly to strangers sniffin' 'round de Hillside without a word of 'spect. Little Jacob tell me some new face was floatin' 'bout, but me gots to see for meself if yuh have de right energy or if yuh just another Babylon spy. Speak up, man! What brings a soul like yours to Dukes tonight? Yuh lookin' for work, or yuh just lookin' to get scorched by de sun?