Count Your Blessings written by Polecat
Disclaimer: I don't own Racetrack
My note: Here's my Thanksgiving piece. I wasn't going to write one, but when the ink hits paper I have no control.
Snow crunched under Racetrack's feet as he approached a bench in Central Park. He brushed snow from the seat. sitting down and taking a long drag on his cigarette. Flipping up the collar of his thin coat, he rubbed at his arms for a bit more warmth.
"Cold one today, ain't it?"
The blonde girl next to him nodded as she wrapped her arms tightly around her frame. "Wintah gets worse wit every year. I hate it, I'se hate da cold, I'se hate da snow, all of it."
Race took another drag, "Yeah, Ol' Man Wintah is a monstah, but what's New York widout it?"
"Yeh, I guess da snow does make da city kinda pretty."
"New York's beautiful widout it, it's majestic widit."
"Beautiful, majestic, whadevah ya wanna call it, I'se still don't like da cold."
"I t'ink dat may be why ducks fly south for da wintah, dey don't like snow much. So why didn't you, Duckie?"
Duckie shrugged, "Guess ya can say dese wings was broken a long time ago."
"Troubled past?"
"Like most uddahs."
"It's T'anksgivin' ya know."
"I know."
"So's why ya out here?"
"Could ask you da same."
He shrugged, "I'se like to take a walk before we'se eat. Gives be time to reflect, figure out what I'm t'ankful for an' out my blessins, ya know?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Doin' some reflectin' of ya own?"
"No, jus' lookin' at da snow."
"Why? I'se t'ought ya don't like snow."
"I'se don't, but I ain't evah say dat it ain't pretty."
"So how long ya been 'lookin at da snow'?"
She shrugged again, "Since some time dis mornin'."
Race flicked his cigarette out to his side, turning towards Duckie with a frown, "It's nearly two now."
"I knows dat."
"Ya shouldn't stay out in da cold dat long."
"I knows dat too."
"Ah," Race nodded, leaning back against the bench and gazing out to the park blanketed in white. He rubbed his hands together, breathing warm air on them to ward off the cold.
"Geez it's cold."
Duckie nodded in agreement again.
"Yeah, well, I'se freezin' an' I t'ink I've done enough reflectin'. What am I t'ankful for dis year? Dat I got a roof over my head, a warm place to sleep wit friends an' dinnah waitin' for me back home, same as usual."
He glanced at Duckie, waiting for her response or for her to say what she was thankful for on this day. She only stared out at the snow, mouth pressed in a firm line.
After a few minutes, he spoke up again, "We... well we ain't got much, jus' a chicken, some potatoes an' some uddah stuff da Sistahs at Saint Antony's brung us. It'd be a tight squeeze, but we could fit ya."
Duckie remained silent, still looking out to the snow.
Race followed her gaze then looked back to her, "W-"
"I don't take charity."
"I'm not offerin' any charity. How can I when I ain't got much myself. I'm jus' invitin' my friend to dinnah."
It took another moment before the blonde turned to the newsboy, her straight face turning into a small smile. "For once, I t'ink I finally knows what I'm t'ankful for. Me friend Race."
He smiled at her, standing and offering his arm, "C'mon before da uddah fella's eat all da good stuff."
She stood, linking her arm through his, "T'anks, Race."
"Ah, what can I say? I'm a saint."
Disclaimer: I don't own Racetrack
My note: Here's my Thanksgiving piece. I wasn't going to write one, but when the ink hits paper I have no control.
Snow crunched under Racetrack's feet as he approached a bench in Central Park. He brushed snow from the seat. sitting down and taking a long drag on his cigarette. Flipping up the collar of his thin coat, he rubbed at his arms for a bit more warmth.
"Cold one today, ain't it?"
The blonde girl next to him nodded as she wrapped her arms tightly around her frame. "Wintah gets worse wit every year. I hate it, I'se hate da cold, I'se hate da snow, all of it."
Race took another drag, "Yeah, Ol' Man Wintah is a monstah, but what's New York widout it?"
"Yeh, I guess da snow does make da city kinda pretty."
"New York's beautiful widout it, it's majestic widit."
"Beautiful, majestic, whadevah ya wanna call it, I'se still don't like da cold."
"I t'ink dat may be why ducks fly south for da wintah, dey don't like snow much. So why didn't you, Duckie?"
Duckie shrugged, "Guess ya can say dese wings was broken a long time ago."
"Troubled past?"
"Like most uddahs."
"It's T'anksgivin' ya know."
"I know."
"So's why ya out here?"
"Could ask you da same."
He shrugged, "I'se like to take a walk before we'se eat. Gives be time to reflect, figure out what I'm t'ankful for an' out my blessins, ya know?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Doin' some reflectin' of ya own?"
"No, jus' lookin' at da snow."
"Why? I'se t'ought ya don't like snow."
"I'se don't, but I ain't evah say dat it ain't pretty."
"So how long ya been 'lookin at da snow'?"
She shrugged again, "Since some time dis mornin'."
Race flicked his cigarette out to his side, turning towards Duckie with a frown, "It's nearly two now."
"I knows dat."
"Ya shouldn't stay out in da cold dat long."
"I knows dat too."
"Ah," Race nodded, leaning back against the bench and gazing out to the park blanketed in white. He rubbed his hands together, breathing warm air on them to ward off the cold.
"Geez it's cold."
Duckie nodded in agreement again.
"Yeah, well, I'se freezin' an' I t'ink I've done enough reflectin'. What am I t'ankful for dis year? Dat I got a roof over my head, a warm place to sleep wit friends an' dinnah waitin' for me back home, same as usual."
He glanced at Duckie, waiting for her response or for her to say what she was thankful for on this day. She only stared out at the snow, mouth pressed in a firm line.
After a few minutes, he spoke up again, "We... well we ain't got much, jus' a chicken, some potatoes an' some uddah stuff da Sistahs at Saint Antony's brung us. It'd be a tight squeeze, but we could fit ya."
Duckie remained silent, still looking out to the snow.
Race followed her gaze then looked back to her, "W-"
"I don't take charity."
"I'm not offerin' any charity. How can I when I ain't got much myself. I'm jus' invitin' my friend to dinnah."
It took another moment before the blonde turned to the newsboy, her straight face turning into a small smile. "For once, I t'ink I finally knows what I'm t'ankful for. Me friend Race."
He smiled at her, standing and offering his arm, "C'mon before da uddah fella's eat all da good stuff."
She stood, linking her arm through his, "T'anks, Race."
"Ah, what can I say? I'm a saint."