It was simple really. Simple to imagine that the flashing lights over their heads weren't FBI lights from following helicopters. Simple to believe that the beat up Pontiac rounding the corner was, in fact, a regular couple out for a drive rather than the undercover cops that they were known to be. Simple to ignore the two small whispers emitted from the alley, from behind the splintered plywood, back behind the empty crates that once held cartons of long since eaten food. It was unbelievably simple to just pretend that the two people hidden in that alley, pressed tightly together, watching the scene with alert eyes were not there. That was because they weren't. Or, not to the untrained eye at least. If they could be seen, they would not be particularly good at their jobs. They once were normal. They once had a regular life. They had been trusted. Now they were criminals even to criminals. Now they were on their own.

Views of the world seem to change when you flip the other side of the coin. The head is the regular, white washed illusion of a perfect family, perfect kids, and perfect friends –of which conventionally neither of them truly had in the first place, however it was still the better choice. The tail side is the ass of all trades; the wonderful world of complete isolation; every man and every woman for themself. Alone. Borderline disowned. Featured on the news, and highlighted on America's Most Wanted. It's not a good place to be.
We were there.

Every city has its mask; some sort of image set in place in order to hide the shadows of reality from tourists. On the main streets of New York City there are no dangerous people. There are no beggars, no homeless alcoholics, no orphans. Just go take a glance at any brochure, website or TV commercial advertising the pristine homes with immaculate lawns, the busy streets full of yellow taxi cabs that are impossible to attract –which is not true, if you have appropriate means. Every busy street is full of expensive stores that will cost you every time you accidently glance through the large bay windows. Every sidewalk is lined with flashing lights, bright enough to spot from space, and every single night, these lights make the city appear as though the daylight sun has never left. Every winter- January 1st, to be precise- the huge gathering of musical talent in Times Square brought with it the large flood of people in the streets. With this flood of people, came the huge amounts of police force lining the streets. This large amount of officers out on street and people duty meant less of them on city wide watch. This meant that the huge amounts of people dressed in gang colours, wearing holsters and flashing toothy grins in the back streets, revving their motor bikes were not noticed.

This was the real New York.

If someone was to stop; to look deeper, past the fake images of happiness the tourism displayed, past the window shops, and the lights, and the million dollar celebrities, they would see a city. A city so riddled in shadows, so covered in darkness, that even the bears had trouble walking through the streets without their guns drawn and ready. Picture the most bad-ass gang movie out there, now multiply that by ten, and you've got my New York. You've got the real New York.