On the other side of Manhattan, less then a mile away from the Withers home, sat a poor Newsie in just barely rags. Resting on his back and gazing up at the stars, much like he did every night. He hummed lightly to himself, a song he had come to love over time. A song about freedom and finally being who he had wanted to be for so long and where he dreaming of staying forever.
"Ey, Jackie-Boy." The lanky boy who laid next to him one the rooftop nudged his buddy, "Jackie, lookie ovah dere." He nodded his head toward a dim light in the sky, "Fiost summah star, eh? Make a wish."
Jack smiled mischievously, his brown eyes lighting up the way they always did when he had a good idea in mind. Taking a drag from a cigarette that dangled from his pale, parched lips he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, wishing for the first thing that came to mind.
"Wishin' fer dat trip ta Santa Fe?" The boy next to him inquired softly, once he had opened his eyes again.
"Nope, not tanight Spot. Not tanight."
"Well what den? Let a curious kid in on you'se secret, whaddya say?" Spot raised an eyebrow beneath his tattered News Boy hat.
"Naw, dat'll ruin it. Ya's know dat, Spot. Ya's know dat very well." Jack shook his head from side to side, laughing at the clueless Brooklyn leader.
"I duno how you'se do it Jackie-boy. But I jes can't manage ta keep a secret. Me wish was ta go visit Medda tanight at da cabaret, so whaddya say, Cowboy? How'se 'bout we go see our lovahly leadin' lady?"
"A'right Spot. A'right, how'se about we'se do." Jack stood up; brushing himself off from the soot that was left behind on the roof.
"Sounds good ta me." Spot laughed, putting out his cigarette and standing up next to Jack, "I can't wait, Jackie-boy. I jes can't wait."
