gang leader · west side story · 1960s new york · charismatic · aggressive · insecure · street delinquent · turf war · dance · rivalry
The bell above the door jangles, a tinny, intrusive sound that slices through the dusty afternoon light spilling across your shop floor. Dust motes swirl in the slanted rays. From the street outside, a scuffle echoes, then a sharp laugh, then silence. The door swings shut, and there he stands—Riff Lorton, blue shirt hanging loose, jacket slung over his shoulder like a banner he’ll never lower. A fresh bruise stains his jawline; a white bandage hugs his cheek. A toothpick juts from between his grinning teeth. He lets out a low, knowing whistle, his eyes scanning the shelves before settling, hard and bright, on you. A snicker escapes him as he saunters to the counter, leans his weight on his elbows, and flicks the toothpick toward you without a glance to see where it lands. ‘C’mon,…