So, I was headin' over to Manhattan in search of some companionship, when I noticed I was runnin' low on cash. So, I ambled on down to the market place to see who I could.relieve. The headlines had been lousy for the past month, and my improvements hadn't been tops either. I needed a fast fix. Someone else's preferably. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of dark curly hair. Standing just in front of me was a girl, obviously a foreigner, haggling with an Arabic man selling fish. Her pointed green eyes were sizing him up and down, blazing. Her flowing skirts of bright colors were handmade, and her accent was heavy. A Greek. I didn't mean to pickpocket her exactly.but when she bumped right into me, it seemed a God-given opportunity. Her moneybag fell easily from her wrist, and I thought I'd gotten away with it. When I turned to walk away, however, I found someone pulling on the back of my shirt. Turning, there were those big green eyes, snapping with anger. I put on my tough-guy face, daring her to say something, to accuse me. But she didn't. I could fight back (my right hook was famous all over New York), but I couldn't if she didn't ever START it. Finally, under her intense stare, I dropped my eyes to the street. One of the few blushes of my life burned across my cheeks; why do I feel guilty? She probably stole all that money from someone else anyway.

            "I believe you have something of mine," she said softly. Without a word, or even looking up, I handed her the bag. It jingled as she pocked it. "Thank you." With that she turned and walked away. Whew, that was weird. And close. One word from that girl and I'd have ended up in the Refuge. She was sure mad enough.but she didn't say a word or make a fuss or anything. I can't believe I got cold feet like that. I should have at least denied it. Even if she knew I was lying. I usually talk rings around people till they're confused and just...walk away. O well. Turning on my heel, I abandoned the idea of pick-pocketing just now. I didn't feel like it anymore. Rubbing my last two bits together, I headed to Tibby's for a beer. As I turned the corner, the smell of grease and good cooking practically attacked me. Walking in, I plopped my money on the bar and ordered as much beer as it would buy, which wasn't much, I can tell you. From a corner, a familiar voice called out to me,

            "What're ya doin' all the way in Manhattan, Righty? Shouldn't you be attendin' to the Bronx? Or have you lost your touch?" I smirked good-naturedly. Cowboy was always kidding me about the Bronx.

"You wish, cow-face. You just don't like the competition. 'M I making you nervous?"

"Almost, Righty. Almost. I'm afraid of that right hook, alright."

 "Wanna buy me another beer? I need it for my nerves."

"What's got you on edge?"

"I had a little run in at the market. This girl caught me pick pocketing her. Stared me down and everything.practically choked on her goddam eyeballs. Looked real mad like, but all she did was quietly ask me to return her moneybag. Didn't call the bulls or nothin'."

"What she look like?" "A Greek. Looked fresh off the boat, really. Thick accent, not tall, and real curly hair. I'm talkin' wow curly. Shined kinda red-like."

"I know the one. I see her sometimes.in fact, I saw her in here the other day. Applying for a waitress job I think. Call her Mara."

 "Mara." I tried the name on my tongue. It rolled right off, like honey. Plopping down on my right, Mush playfully punched my shoulder.

"Hey beautiful."

"Cut it out, Mush. I don't go for your type."

"Damn! I'm strikin' out left and right today!" "Every day can't be your day, Mush." The chime of the bell on the door announced Race's arrival. Turning, I was about to shout my hello's when he sighed. LOUD.

"Can you believe it? I bet on five different horses today-count 'em, FIVE-and lost ALL FIVE. Today is not my day." At least I wasn't the only one with money trouble.

"Guess I won't be askin' you to spot me two bits then, Race," I kidded.

 "Like I'd lend it to you anyway!"

"Anyone else with money trouble? Or is it just the two of us?"

"What newsie doesn't have money trouble?" This from Mush.

"Speaking of money, I need to go make some. Race, come sellin' with me, since we're both in need."

 "Money is my first love."

*****Maras Point of View***** I was a little bit nervous for my first day of work. I was already on edge because of what had happened in the market place earlier this morning. Some smartass tomboy had tried to pick pocket me-back in Greece, it had happened to me so often, I was used to reacting to it. She acted rather oddly when I confronted her tho-like she wasn't used to being caught. Understandable, as she had considerable skill. I had, however, anticipated a more fiery result. At least a denial. The event had startled me. She was tall, at least five seven, probably taller, with pale blue eyes and pale skin. Her expressionless face was framed by dark hair-almost as dark as mine. As I made my way down to Tibby's, I tried to shake off the feeling of unwontedness that America impressed upon me. I yearned for the soft hills of Greece, the goats, the make-shift shacks that served as houses, the poverty, the worry.the familiarity of my home country. America is the land of opportunity, but to me it was only a dim substitute for the place I'd left. I wanted to cry, tears I'd suppressed for two weeks, because I'd been too brave to cry, and too scared. Now that the packing and the boat ride were over and things had calmed down, I had time to think. I could feel them, filling my chest, climbing up my throat, slinking into my eyes.I bit my lip to keep them back. Before I knew it I'd reached Tibby's. Taking a moment to get ahold of myself, I walked to the back door like I'd been instructed, put on a apron and went to see about who needed tending too. The manager, a tired, wish-washy guy, handed me a grungy notepad and shoved me into the seating area. Not a word of advice or anything. I suppose I should have been thankful I got the job at all, but a bit of kindness on my first day would have been appreciated. Around 3, when traffic slowed down a bit, I met these two very intriguing American boys. They told me they sold papers for a living. I could not see the advantages of so tedious a job, but they laughed at my concern for their future. Americans do not care for success. They care for fun and adventure. We Greeks, I told them, are not accustomed to throwing away opportunities like these you have in America. This made them laugh more, but I was not offended. The older one they called Cowboy. He desires to go west some day, but that day is not today or anytime soon. He had light hair, pretty eyes that focused on you and somehow made you feel like the only person in the room. I am unaccustomed to American frankness. The other boy, shorter than the first, is known as Mush. He had dark hair like mine, and curly also, but not as curly. Not nearly. He seemed much easier-going than Cowboy, and much more easily-excited, also. When I first walked out to take orders, he whistled at me. One of my freezing glances silenced him, but his eyes seem to always glow, no matter the situation. His energy affected me, and I spoke freely to them, tho in very broken English. Cowboy was much more nonchalant, but not uninviting. They told me of their frequent visits to Tibby's, and how many of the newsies often dined here also. Apparently, I'd secured a job at a very hot restaurant. Walking home, I smiled to myself. I would be getting to know this Cowboy and this Mush. Maybe America isn't quite so bad.