This story is about a group of boys who play together but the narrator isn’t really friends with he just hangs out even when two of the boys get assaulted for their bikes he still does nothing to help them out.
The difference between the narrator’s neighborhood and the Italian neighborhood that they played in was that everything in Flushing things looked good in a distance but up close you could see the murky grey insides.
The boys are generally good kids they played, and run around like any other bunch of ten year olds.
The majority of the boys are good friends the two new boys are Jung’s friends and the narrator really isn’t friends with any one of them he just hangs out.
The reason why the narrator isn’t good friends with the other boys is he thinks that as soon as you stop talking to one boy another will just come along.
This proves that the narrator isn’t good friends with the rest of the boys because he doesn’t care if any of the others stop talking to him.
When the two boys got jumped for their bikes the narrator did not do the right thing because even if they weren’t his friends he could’ve at least call for help.
If I had been in the narrators position I would ran to call for help or at least yelled out cops to maybe scare the assailants away because that would’ve been the right thing to do.
