I first met Johnny walking down 77th Street as I passed Mendel's Book Shop and the Puerto Rican market. He was dressed in all black attire complete with greasy hair dangling in front of his face, getting caught in the flowing, white smoke seeping through the tip of his half-burned cigarette. He leaned against Mendel's brick-side wall, one foot resting on it and the other at an angle a few inches in front of a puddle. Arms folded. Eyes down. Fingers twiddling back and forth lightly tapping the decaying bricks. Noticing me, I winced until I saw him briefly chuckle, and begin his march towards me. His pointed leather boots hit the ground like bone on cement, and his deep, grey jeans rustled in the wind. He threw his completely burnt cigarette into the rain puddle and took another one out, as he finished walking up to me.
    "Got a light?"
    His dark-blue eyes stared into mine waiting for me to either kiss him or literally hand him my cigarette lighter. Without ever moving my eyes I reached into the back of my blue pants, and pulled out a transparent-green, BIC lighter and lit him up. He took a quick inhale, breathed it out, and said, "Thanks," friendly enough. "Name's Johnny," he said, "And yours would be?" I was still concentrating on his eyes but quickly snapped out of it once his face slightly grimace.
    "Sam," I said quietly into the cold, letting my name drift into his ear.
    "Well Sam, what’cha come down here lookin' for?" he asked me.
    "Excuse me?" I said a little offended.
    "Well you must have been searchin' for something," he replied. I scowled at him.
    "You're disgusting," I said, about to walk away.
    "If you weren’t lookin' for somethin', then why do you have a bag hangin' off your arm. I think it says 'Mendel’s? I used to work there," he said. My face turned a deep blood crimson. The bag swayed in the breeze, and I turned around nervously smiling at him.
     "I'm sorry I thought you were--,"
     "Don't. Whatever you're thinking about me you're probably right," his voice said getting angrier. "You don't seem to be interested in what I have to offer," he said breathlessly.  He turned away from me a walking down the alley way passing a sleeping stray cat and an aluminum garbage can. I hear those boots like bone, walking across the concrete every time I pass Mendel's now.
    I met a few Johnnys over the next few years, realizing that “Johnny” was code for “whore.” But I’ll always remember the one that approached me-- whatever his name was.