About

<br> Lieutenant Greenstein crouched on the roof of the six-floor tenement building, her rifle aimed at the corner of South 3rd and Kent Avenue. A cold wind blew off the gray East River, sending a chill through her bones, despite the ample weight of her police uniform. She had been like this for the past two hours, waiting for the gangs of Hasid to come to where they based their illegal water-hoarding operation. It had come to this: New York's finest perched in decrepit windows of abandoned warehouses, esentially snipers. Guilty until proven innocent, and even then no one was ever innocent. Fuck this, she thought. She'd rather be at home, with Scott, protected by the Rockaways, a place of New York that still hadn't been affected by the storm. She was one of the lucky ones, though, even if she did have to spend eight hours a day in the fucking dregs of the 18th precinct, trying to maintain order in a city that was falling apart at the sea