A/N: Finally! An update. Sorry about that kids I lost a lot of what I had
written when we reprogrammed the computer, and I lacked the motivation to
rewrite them in hopes that I would find them. So here it is, one of the re-
written chapters. Sigh. Oh well. Read on, and enjoy, and don't forget to
review!
It was from then on that I went by the name Spot. I'm not entirely sure if it was out of spite, out of hatred or just the raw desire to prove him wrong, to take something worthless and make it great. Maybe it was the anticipation that hearing people say things along the lines of 'Don't mess with Spot,' and 'Spot makes us a little nervous,' was somewhat amusing, let alone ironic. Although I'm not entirely sure what ironic means, but it seems as though it fit. I'm straying from the point.
I packed my stuff and left Manhattan, way before Jack busted himself out of the refuge. When he did get out I bet he was expecting me to be there, waiting. But I got tired of waiting. I got tired of being pushed around. I wasn't sure where I was headed. I just took off.
I meandered around for a while, sleeping on benches, and porches, waking before the inhabitants in order to insure my safety, and my pride. I took meals when tempted. And it was on one of these lifts that I first acquired the talent for pick-pocketed. Although I was not slick with the larger thefts, I came to realize that I had small hands and long fingers, and small, unnoticeable movements allowed me to successfully get what I needed. Well that, and my incredible charm. With mild distractions and my skillful art in conjunction I was able to pull in about a buck a day on average, sometimes more sometimes not as much. Which, more or less, kept me happy, well not happy, but not hungry either.
I'm not sure if I first noticed him or he me, but it doesn't really matter. I was headed toward the bridge. I had bought some papers to sell but didn't want to do so in Manhattan, not with ships around. It was the same morning that I had run from one of the neighboring boroughs after being caught in the act of my new skill. I walked halfway across the bridge, and then realized that I hadn't even begun hawking the headlines, hadn't even been trying. I leaned against the side of the bridge, just thinking. And now that I think about it I guess he noticed me first, because it was at that moment when I was thinking with my papes in hand that I felt a slight movement in my pocket. I grabbed the hand without thought and turned the culprit to face me. He didn't even bother to distract me while he worked. Amateur.
He looked scared, I'm not sure whether it was because I caught him or because I was intimidating, I prefer to claim the latter. It was then that I realized, despite my size, I could be intimidating. If I wanted to, I could. I put on my game face, and interrogating the kid.
I gave him an icy stare, you know for fun, and realized that it made him squirm. I started messing around with him a little, experimenting for the future. This kid is responsible for the Spot Conlon many see today. I wanted to look angry, so I taught myself to feel angry. I let every memory surface, my brother, my father, Jack, Ships. And believe it or not, after all of that, I did feel angry. I scoffed at him and yelled at him and pressed him for information. Said information proved to be of much help, and quite possibly accountable for my current position. Well no. My current position is attributed to myself, and myself alone.
So this kid tells me that he's from Brooklyn. He had chosen my pocket to pick because he was a newsie himself and he knew that he, as well as most others, kept change for their customers, as well as their earnings, in their pants' pockets for easy access. He told me that he sells in Brooklyn, but he needed some extra cash for some sort of debt. He told me that he lived with some other kids that also sold on most days, though it was not a lodging house, but rather a vacant warehouse with scattered mattresses and beds. He told me I could sleep there if I wanted to. I think he told me that out of fear, maybe he felt obliged to offer me something after trying to steal from me, I don't really know, but the kid he offered. Lastly he told me his name was J.
It was from then on that I went by the name Spot. I'm not entirely sure if it was out of spite, out of hatred or just the raw desire to prove him wrong, to take something worthless and make it great. Maybe it was the anticipation that hearing people say things along the lines of 'Don't mess with Spot,' and 'Spot makes us a little nervous,' was somewhat amusing, let alone ironic. Although I'm not entirely sure what ironic means, but it seems as though it fit. I'm straying from the point.
I packed my stuff and left Manhattan, way before Jack busted himself out of the refuge. When he did get out I bet he was expecting me to be there, waiting. But I got tired of waiting. I got tired of being pushed around. I wasn't sure where I was headed. I just took off.
I meandered around for a while, sleeping on benches, and porches, waking before the inhabitants in order to insure my safety, and my pride. I took meals when tempted. And it was on one of these lifts that I first acquired the talent for pick-pocketed. Although I was not slick with the larger thefts, I came to realize that I had small hands and long fingers, and small, unnoticeable movements allowed me to successfully get what I needed. Well that, and my incredible charm. With mild distractions and my skillful art in conjunction I was able to pull in about a buck a day on average, sometimes more sometimes not as much. Which, more or less, kept me happy, well not happy, but not hungry either.
I'm not sure if I first noticed him or he me, but it doesn't really matter. I was headed toward the bridge. I had bought some papers to sell but didn't want to do so in Manhattan, not with ships around. It was the same morning that I had run from one of the neighboring boroughs after being caught in the act of my new skill. I walked halfway across the bridge, and then realized that I hadn't even begun hawking the headlines, hadn't even been trying. I leaned against the side of the bridge, just thinking. And now that I think about it I guess he noticed me first, because it was at that moment when I was thinking with my papes in hand that I felt a slight movement in my pocket. I grabbed the hand without thought and turned the culprit to face me. He didn't even bother to distract me while he worked. Amateur.
He looked scared, I'm not sure whether it was because I caught him or because I was intimidating, I prefer to claim the latter. It was then that I realized, despite my size, I could be intimidating. If I wanted to, I could. I put on my game face, and interrogating the kid.
I gave him an icy stare, you know for fun, and realized that it made him squirm. I started messing around with him a little, experimenting for the future. This kid is responsible for the Spot Conlon many see today. I wanted to look angry, so I taught myself to feel angry. I let every memory surface, my brother, my father, Jack, Ships. And believe it or not, after all of that, I did feel angry. I scoffed at him and yelled at him and pressed him for information. Said information proved to be of much help, and quite possibly accountable for my current position. Well no. My current position is attributed to myself, and myself alone.
So this kid tells me that he's from Brooklyn. He had chosen my pocket to pick because he was a newsie himself and he knew that he, as well as most others, kept change for their customers, as well as their earnings, in their pants' pockets for easy access. He told me that he sells in Brooklyn, but he needed some extra cash for some sort of debt. He told me that he lived with some other kids that also sold on most days, though it was not a lodging house, but rather a vacant warehouse with scattered mattresses and beds. He told me I could sleep there if I wanted to. I think he told me that out of fear, maybe he felt obliged to offer me something after trying to steal from me, I don't really know, but the kid he offered. Lastly he told me his name was J.
