Yay! I got a characters to work with! Woot! But you must review all my chapters! Mwa-ha-ha.
I won't be able to use most of you until the strike, but I will use you!
I don't own Newsies. I never have claimed to own Newsies. I never will. If I did, however, I would share them with you all, along with some homemade chocolate chip cookies. But I have niether. Sorry, kids!
I like my town
With a little drop of poison...
-Captain Hook, Shrek Two
-:-
We took our papers and headed off to the places where we thought the stories would sell most. Some newsies have a "sellin' spot"; clever, but not really. Seriously, are you gonna talk to men at the racetracks about miracle medicine for little children? No. You're gonna talk to mothers and nannies taking little children for walks in Central Park. In other words, sellin' spots are crap.
Spades, always one with a quick eye, grabbed a brown paper bag of apples from a lady's shopping basket. Taking out her pocket knife, she quickly divided the four apples evenly between all of us (including Becca.)
"Thanks," we older girls acknowledged her kindness with.
Becca, who didn't say much, just gave Spades a hug.
And off we went to face the city.
-:-
It really doesn't take much to sell papers.
To sell them well it does.
You have to like what you do. Can you imaging coughing, screaming, cheating, sprinting from the cops, living in alleyways, eating your leftover papers, and running back to the distribution office to do it all over again for as many editions as Pulitzer decides to print out to cover all the news, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, three hundread and sixty-five days a year , for as many years as you're cute enough?
If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen.
But we can. And so we cough, scream, sprint, live in alleyways, eat our leftover papes, and run to the distribution office to do it all over again for as many editions as Pulitzer decides to print out to cover all the news, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, three hundread and sixty-five days a year , for as many years as we're cute enough.
And we stick together; in a town as tough as here, it's all you can do.
Unless you're beaten to death for your jacket first, that is.
