So I sit and wait and wonder,
Does anyone else feel like me
Someone so tired of their routines
And disappearing self esteems
I'll sing along with every emergency
Just sing along "I'm the king of catastrophes"
I'm so far gone that deep down inside I think
It's fine by me, I'm my own worst enemy --Less than Jake (The Science of Selling Yourself Short)
A/N: I spent the day listening to Less than Jake and reading Racetrack fics, so I guess this is their brainchild. Please excuse my insanity. ^_^ "Poco Fedele" means "Little Faithful" in Italian.
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, but well, duh.
The papers rustled beneath my hands as I scanned the smudgy, gray letters for the word 'Washington'. No such luck. Abandoning this pursuit, I returned to the previous page where the headline droned "Election contestants neck-and-neck for the second week running". I jumped off the steps leading up to the distribution office, narrowly avoiding Boots, who seemed determined to take up the whole bottom step. "Scram, ya bum" I joked casually, earning a grin from him. "Yeah, yeah, get outta here, Racetrack." Pushing my cigar to the corner of my mouth, I wandered into the street bellowing "New development in Election! Importan' changes!"
The regular morning routine. I spend most of the day alone, if you can call being pushed around by people in the streets alone. What I mean by alone is that I don't sell with anyone. I think it increases the money I make. The less Newsies there are to buy from, the more money each individual Newsie gets. Plain, simple logic. It's not a lonely life; it's all kind of boring and sluggish. You know the type. Like nothing ever happens unless you've got enough time to do something about it. But once that last paper disappears from my hands, I'm gone. Off to the Sheepshead where one move can make or break your stream of luck.
Glancing up and down the crowded street, I noticed a man waving his hand at me, jogging across the street. I didn't recognize his face, so I waited impatiently on the curb for the dough to come rolling in. Instead of holding out his hand for the paper, he kinda stooped down, looking all curious, like. "Anthony Higgins?" he asked, squinting. He sounded out of breath.
Wondering what an upper class priss like him wanted with me, and hell, how he knew my name, I pulled the cigar from between my teeth and gave him my most intimidating stare. "Yeah?"
"Thank God. Look, kid, it's about Maria Tortella. I understand you two have become acquainted over the years?"
"Yeah, we're acquainted. What do you want with Nonna?" I asked, my scowl darkening. I put my cigar back between my teeth; I looked even more intimidating with it like that.
'She's not been doing so well and she's asking for you; one of her neighbors pointed you out to me and I've been chasing you for the past three blocks." He said all this real fast, like he couldn't wait to get it out.
My heart stopped. It was common knowledge that Nonna was old, and she was always telling me that her health was bad, but I hadn't expected this. Turning on my heel, I started towards the all-to-familiar apartment building. "How d' you know Nonna?" I called over my shoulder to the man, squeezing between a trolley car and a pretzel vender.
I must have been running too fast for him, he was breathing hard behind me and seemed to be in no position to answer. Raising my eyes to the heavens, I sent up a little prayer to the saints to keep Nonna safe.
A/N: Dun dun dun!! Three cheers for the cliffhanger! (Yay! Yay! Yay!) Stay tuned for more Race, more upper class priss, some new characters, and whatever else my slightly-insane-but-not-outwardly-harmful mind dreams up. That reminds me, I was going to paint my nails. *Rolls her eyes* You know the drill; review while I'm gone.
Does anyone else feel like me
Someone so tired of their routines
And disappearing self esteems
I'll sing along with every emergency
Just sing along "I'm the king of catastrophes"
I'm so far gone that deep down inside I think
It's fine by me, I'm my own worst enemy --Less than Jake (The Science of Selling Yourself Short)
A/N: I spent the day listening to Less than Jake and reading Racetrack fics, so I guess this is their brainchild. Please excuse my insanity. ^_^ "Poco Fedele" means "Little Faithful" in Italian.
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, but well, duh.
The papers rustled beneath my hands as I scanned the smudgy, gray letters for the word 'Washington'. No such luck. Abandoning this pursuit, I returned to the previous page where the headline droned "Election contestants neck-and-neck for the second week running". I jumped off the steps leading up to the distribution office, narrowly avoiding Boots, who seemed determined to take up the whole bottom step. "Scram, ya bum" I joked casually, earning a grin from him. "Yeah, yeah, get outta here, Racetrack." Pushing my cigar to the corner of my mouth, I wandered into the street bellowing "New development in Election! Importan' changes!"
The regular morning routine. I spend most of the day alone, if you can call being pushed around by people in the streets alone. What I mean by alone is that I don't sell with anyone. I think it increases the money I make. The less Newsies there are to buy from, the more money each individual Newsie gets. Plain, simple logic. It's not a lonely life; it's all kind of boring and sluggish. You know the type. Like nothing ever happens unless you've got enough time to do something about it. But once that last paper disappears from my hands, I'm gone. Off to the Sheepshead where one move can make or break your stream of luck.
Glancing up and down the crowded street, I noticed a man waving his hand at me, jogging across the street. I didn't recognize his face, so I waited impatiently on the curb for the dough to come rolling in. Instead of holding out his hand for the paper, he kinda stooped down, looking all curious, like. "Anthony Higgins?" he asked, squinting. He sounded out of breath.
Wondering what an upper class priss like him wanted with me, and hell, how he knew my name, I pulled the cigar from between my teeth and gave him my most intimidating stare. "Yeah?"
"Thank God. Look, kid, it's about Maria Tortella. I understand you two have become acquainted over the years?"
"Yeah, we're acquainted. What do you want with Nonna?" I asked, my scowl darkening. I put my cigar back between my teeth; I looked even more intimidating with it like that.
'She's not been doing so well and she's asking for you; one of her neighbors pointed you out to me and I've been chasing you for the past three blocks." He said all this real fast, like he couldn't wait to get it out.
My heart stopped. It was common knowledge that Nonna was old, and she was always telling me that her health was bad, but I hadn't expected this. Turning on my heel, I started towards the all-to-familiar apartment building. "How d' you know Nonna?" I called over my shoulder to the man, squeezing between a trolley car and a pretzel vender.
I must have been running too fast for him, he was breathing hard behind me and seemed to be in no position to answer. Raising my eyes to the heavens, I sent up a little prayer to the saints to keep Nonna safe.
A/N: Dun dun dun!! Three cheers for the cliffhanger! (Yay! Yay! Yay!) Stay tuned for more Race, more upper class priss, some new characters, and whatever else my slightly-insane-but-not-outwardly-harmful mind dreams up. That reminds me, I was going to paint my nails. *Rolls her eyes* You know the drill; review while I'm gone.
