It is mid afternoon. My hair is matted against my face from the pouring rain. I skip though the puddles, soaking my leather boots and striped stockings.
As I run, I intentionally knock into strangers, and in the spit seconds our bodies' touch, I slip my fingers into their pockets and whip out their wallets.
This routine is a part of my every day, and a secret that I keep from disapproving Tyki.
I am ten now, and he is twenty-one. I am through with waiting alone all day, as I have been for a while now. And I find that I like being around people, because it is so much more thrilling to be the fox in the hen house, rather then being the blue bird in a tree.
I spot a group of men, playing poker in the nearby pub. They play the unfortunate part of being my next targets.
I stride inside, and a bell jingles as I enter. Everyone there immediately turns to me, but I don't mind. If you act confident and look like you belong, you can get in anywhere. I walk over to the card game.
"Hello, sirs."
They look at me suspiciously; I suppose they have been warned. To my irritation, I have become somewhat famous for my skills. But the longer I spend time around people, the more I realize how easily deceived they are, even if they are aware that the decisions they are making are completely idiotic.
"Can I please play?"
"Sorry, Miss."
"But sir, it's raining, and I'm bored. My brother told me to meet him here, but he's running late. It will just be for a little while."
I pretend to tear up like any normal little girl might.
I must have stripped those men of every cent they carried.
I make a good amount of money off them and don't have a clue as to where I should spend it. But I have to rid my pockets of each dime before meeting up with Tyki.
And under the light of the moon, I hear a tune, I have always admired street musicians, I envy the way money is dropped into their jars as people pass. And so an idea forms in my mind, and I sprint toward the singing man.
"Sir!" I holler, the man singing stops and looks up at me, "I'll give you 140 francs* for your guitar."
* French currency in the 1800s