It’s a dark, cold, rainy night. The wind chill can be compared to that of Arctic wastelands, only the rain won’t freeze and disappear upon contact to your skin, instead the freezing cold ice-rain pierces your flesh like a million needles. The cold doesn’t subdue. A dark, small, shadowy object can be seen scurrying across the unlit streets. This dreary atmosphere does Hell’s Kitchen in the New York ghetto no justice. Just the sight of steam rising from sewer grills, the sound of gunshots in the distance, and the smell of rotten fish mak ....