He looked fragile when he first arrived, almost pathetic really. Most of Avenue A's thriving street population didn't think he'd cope for more than a few days. His first night on the street, he'd set up a pickle tub and started drumming on it. The kid did have talent, even if looked like he wouldn't survive a fight with a six-year-old. He was raking it in that first night, too. A new face, friendlier than most of the other bums, still saying "thank you" and "merry Christmas" to anyone who dropped him some change.
Someone asked him his name, on the off chance that he'd still be there in a week.
"I'm Angel," he said.
"Angel? You're shitting me, right?" the guy snorted, and the bums within earshot smirked and resolved not to associate themselves with this "Angel" kid. The guy was a walking target.
At the end of the night, Angel packed up his pickle tub and the assorted change he'd been tossed and walked past a group of people begging by the side of the road.
"Hey, drummer boy!" one woman called. "You got a dollar?"
Angel stopped.
"Sure, honey," he replied, and he fished in the pocket of his pants, produced a dollar and handed it over. The other beggars around the woman crowded in on Angel, who handed out his money to anyone who asked until it was gone.
The next night, Angel was back. He played his drums, wished everyone a merry Christmas, and when the shoppers had gone he made sure to walk past as many homeless people as possible, handing out money till he ran out. Now there were murmurs going round the district. People were hearing about the drummer boy who busked all day and gave away his money at night.
Within a few days, Angel started to look a little worse for wear. The lack of food was obviously getting to him – he wasn't quite as fast with his drumsticks, though he still never missed a beat. One night, just as he was finishing, the first woman he'd given money to approached him.
"Here," she said, thrusting a five dollar note at him. "Go get yourself something to eat."
"Thanks, sugar," he said, and he gave away the money he'd earned and used the five dollars to buy food that he shared with a half-starved street girl.
Angel got the message after that, keeping a little of his money for himself, just enough to feed himself. He became a fixture on Avenue A leading up to Christmas, greeting most of the homeless people by name and getting a greeting in return, and somehow Angel didn't seem like such a stupid name any more.
A few nights before Christmas Eve, Angel showed up in a skirt and a wig. He got a few playful catcalls from the beggars around him, and he grinned and blew them a kiss.
Late that night, Angel was about to pack up his drums when a group of twenty-something guys surrounded him.
"Fuckin' fairy," one of them said, grabbing some of Angel's money from off the ground. Angel stood up, nervous and ready to run. One of the guys grabbed his arm, and they moved in on him, shoving him against a wall.
Angel didn't really register what was happening when one of the guys was roughly pulled away from him and tossed to the pavement. Then he saw the face of a boy he'd once shared his food with. The homeless people of Avenue A had massed against the small gang of guys, and they were driven away with their tails between their legs.
"And don't come back!" one girl yelled after them.
"Yeah!" shouted another girl. "Leave our Angel alone." The guys still didn't quite believe that they'd just been chased out of Avenue A by a group of pathetic homeless bums, and one of them looked back, just in time to get a faceful of suds from a man with a squeegee.
"Felis Navidad," the man said, getting a laugh from the homeless bums. The guy with a faceful of suds turned away, but the others looked back, and saw a drummer boy in a skirt and wig standing in the centre of a group of homeless people, and for some reason, just then, none of them looked pathetic at all.