Sevside Bronx Novels & Stories

Are you heading over, Senior? I left his text unanswered, grabbed my car keys and walked straight out the door. Bedford-Stuyvesant sits deep in Brooklyn, separated from Manhattan by the East River. Dusk had fallen by the time I drove across the bridge; streetlights flickered on one after another, casting a dim amber glow over the drab city streets. 1427 Vernon Avenue was an old three-storey brownstone townhouse. Most of the exterior paint had peeled away, exposing bare grey concrete underneath. Half the ground-floor windows were boarded up with plywood, while warm light spilled out from those on the second floor.

I promise. In the city, Chloe and Sebastian were starting a new chapter in their lives. They had moved into a charming brownstone in Brooklyn. This was Chloe's dream spot, full of character and warmth. Though it was smaller than the big apartments she knew, this place felt more like home than any place she'd lived before. Chloe leaned against the kitchen island, sipping her tea, and watched Sebastian rearrange a pile of books for the fifth time. You're nervous, she observed.

Goodbye – I turn off the phone and play in the passenger seat. The Bronx is separated from Manhattan by the Harlem River. This means that a mere trickle of water separates the rich from the poor. There are two versions of the Bronx neighborhood. The first is known worldwide as the area of extreme poverty, where people sell lunch to buy dinner. The second part is feared around the world. Home for drug addicts, teenagers who discovered prostitution and criminals. It is in the latter that I grew up.

Outside, there is a meadow with a few olive trees and large white horses grazing. Coffee and dark chocolate overtake the honeysuckle, making me smile. I roll on my side in the silky white sheets. Bronx is sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. He is pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. A lit cigarette rests between his fingers. I watch a fine stream of smoke rise from the tip. It leaves the burnt tobacco aroma I thought he left behind years ago.

The grounds were immaculate, green as far as the eye could see until they reached the front of the house where the garden bloomed. There was a gazebo off to the side in the back that could be barely seen as they pulled up to the gate. The sign outside had the name and number of the dealer, and he pulled his phone. Gramps was all but jumping in his seat, and he didn't wait for his grandson, just opened the passenger door and hopped out. "Yeah, I'm here at the place on Bakersridge? I need you to come out here and let me in." "The place on the hill?"