Rooftop Run

A city at night is the perfect playground, and I'm ready to play until sunrise.
I'm flying through dead-of-night San Francisco, running rooftops and hopping over alleys like a downtown monkey in a concrete jungle. Nobody sees me. I'm too fast, too agile, too blink-and-you'll-miss-me in a city full of people who blink and miss everything. As far as this town is concerned, I'm stealth-mode incarnate.
I come to an edge and take flight over a space between buildings, over some dirty fucker next to a dumpster who's smoking out of a soda can. Good old Coca-Cola. He's 'tasting the feeling', alright...
I do this every night, and it never gets old. The sense of vertigo, the thrill of the run, the feeling of the wind on my face and in my hair as I leap tall buildings like Superman's cousin with a prison record. If this is a high, then I'm a junkie. I could do this forever and a day.
Another edge, another leap from one building to the next. I hear some ruckus in the alley below. Couple people having an argument over money owed. Raised voices, lot of swearing, threats of violence if the cash doesn't get paid pronto.
That brings me to a stop.
I don't care about the dispute, or which of the people yelling is in the right or wrong. But every so often, I come across events like this and feel like eavesdropping for a while. There's something about an argument that could lead to someone getting hurt that always draws me in. Something about seeing drama from the outside, without any risk of being involved. It's why people love reality TV shows. Jersey Shore made a killing off that shit--
Dammit. I'm getting sidetracked. The alley, the argument. Focus on that.
"I done let you go all month." says one guy. He's dressed for winter, wearing big jeans, a big puffy coat and a skully. I can't see his face from here, but I can tell from his accent that he's got some Latino heritage going on. "Done gave you all the time in the world to get my money. I ain't giving you no more time, fool. Whatever you got on you is mine."
"I don't have shit, man!" the other guy says. He's got some indistinct black shirt under flannel, and not much else. He looks as average as it gets. Makes his claim of 'not having shit' seem believable. "I'll get the money to you when I can, but I don't GOT it right now!"
"You got something." Mr. Latino says. "You got a phone on you. I seen you using it."
Mr. Average goes stiff as a board, and I have to fight not to burst out laughing like a jackass.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." says Mr. Winter. "You gimme that shit, now."
"I can't give you my phone, man! That's--"
Mr. Latino grabs Average by the scruff of his shirt and muscles him into the wall behind him, and the guy yelps like a dog whose tail just got stepped on. I have to fight back another laugh. This is gold.