I got lost again. I knew it the moment I felt my body begin to heat up. Dazed under some phantom lights and the cries of a rowdy crowd that caused the floor beneath my feet to rumble. Everything smelled of musk, though it was filtered through a blood-filled, broken nose. My body tensed in anticipation of the oncoming war about to be unleashed on my person. Then, like it always did, those cries turned to hungry roars. Played on by gnashing teeth, surrounded by predatory eyes, scorching hot breath began to suffocate me. It was at that moment she showed up. A woman with raven hair. She floated in place, as if trapped underwater, stiffened. When she began to drift away, I had already unleashed a tearing howl, I knew she’d never hear. But that's when the sky starts falling. Ya know, there's never been a hit I didn’t see coming. Too bad I never seem to move out of the way. 

“Good god, you’re fucking tall,” said a belligerent angel. I emerged from the pile of bricks that was my crumbling state of mind, looking down to my left. He was maybe in his late 60s, with a Flat Cap, like he drove a cab a hundred years ago. I was standing on the corner of Hetridge field, across the street from Yankee Stadium, chewing a gooey turd I was told contained protein. 

              All my senses came rushing back in like a wave, slowly filling my head with noise and smells. The sounds of cars bumping over potholes, across turfed-up roads, scalpers cussing at difficult tourists about ticket prices, and the slapping of shoes against concrete patted out the rest. This was blanketed by the smells of boiling hotdog water and sugar-coated nuts, which smelled great but tasted like burnt wood shavings. All this activity in the Bronx, and someone still had their eyes on me, great. 

             "How big are you?" he asked, looking me up and down.

            "6'8," I said, still chewing through the wad of protein that wouldn't seem to get any smaller. His mouth dropped open in awe.

            "Holy shit. That's big." 

            "I’ve been told."

           "I also never saw a light-skinned brother with em, mustard and ketchup streaks through their fro..."

             "It’s natural."

             "Bullshit," he quickly said, waving me off.  He was a frail-looking dark-skinned brother with a hunched back and like most old folks you met around the stadium. 

             “What are you anyway? Like, you part bear or something?” He asked.

              “My father’s Puerto Rican, apparently. But his Spanish is just as bad as his English, so I’m starting to think it's an angle he's working,” I said.

            “Well, what the fuck? I never heard of a Puerto Rican over 5’2.” 

“Yup,” I said, wondering if zoning out to my demons was a worse fate than this. 

            “You like boxing? Puerto Ricans love boxing,” he said. 

“I box,” I said.

 .          "Well, shit, you should hehe. Oh, that's why ya nose all wide like that?"

            "No, that's just me." 

           " You go to that gym down the road, right? Is it any good?” 

             “The best,” I said, putting on my best smile. 

             "You shouldn't smile, son. It's scary when a big motherfucker like you smiles," he said.

              "I'll keep that in mind, old-timer. You have a good one," I said, stuffing the rest of my protein bar down my mouth. I put my hands in my front hoodie pocket and started down the road back to the gym. 

            "Take care, big blood! I'll drop by the gym sometime to check it out!" he shouted as I crossed the street. I turned towards the guy, then looked down at my outfit. My usual going-out clothes consisted of a matching bright red hoodie and sweatpants, with my high-top turtle-shell Adidas that I'd beaten to crap. It was probably the reason he pointed me out. I'd change my outfit to something less loud, but I wore this and the two other matching sets for a reason. I just hoped I didn't run into my blue doppelganger ready to do battle in the parking lot of the McDonald's on the corner. I looked over to the old man.

               "PWEEZE UUO!" (please do!) I called back with a massive wad holding my teeth together.  It wasn't exactly a great promo for the gym, but as the owner, I had to get asses through the door somehow. I forced myself to swallow with a large, painful gulp before shouting, “IT'S CALLED BRONX BOXIN CHECK US OUT!" I coughed before heading down the street.