Spot's Diary

by The Omniscient Bookseller

The time of the strike from Spot's point of view. I wrote this two or three sentances at a time and at very infrequent intervals, so forgive me if the writing style changes occasionaly. *I FINISHED I FINISHED I FINISHED OH MY GOD IT'S DONE!!!!!!*

10. Day 10

I don't own newsies…I do own Racetrack, though, to an extent. *shows off pretty engagement ring*

So it's over. Everything's over. I'm not exactly sure what I feel. I mean, we won, we beat them. But what does it get us? Back to our old life. Back to selling, no matter what else is going on. Back to working until you drop so you can eat once a day. Back to sleeping on the streets, running from the bulls and from the other boys. Back to Brooklyn, to sinking into oblivion again, just another street rat. There's no more fame, no more larger cause to be part of. And no more watching him. No more thanking God every second that we're friends. No more cursing Him that we aren't more than that.

Back to sitting alone on the roof every night with a razor, the red teardrops falling instead of the real ones.