I gotz a face only a muddah could love. Problem is, I don't got a muddah. Don't got no faddah, eithah. Okay, I lied, I got a faddah, but he's in da state pen wid Jack's ol' man. I do dat a lot. Lie. It's a hell of a lot easier den da truth. An' once people find out yer a liar, dey keep dere distance. I like dat. If ya dun let anyone near ya, dey can't hoit ya.

If lyin' doesn't keep 'em away, I start crackin' jokes. If dey's laughin, dey're too busy tah stab ya in da back. Dey just smile an say, "Oh, dat Race, he's a real riot." If dey don't take ya serious, dey won't hoit ya.

I spend all me money dat ain't fer food or papes at da track. Okay, half da time I spend dat money dere, too. I love da track. I'ze been goin' dere since I was a tot, my faddah took me ev'ry Satahday, until he got busted fer takin' his own bets on da races. He got busted fer a whole lotta uddah stuff, too. He'll be in dere 'til I'm at least thoity.

I dun tink he evah liked me very much. Me muddah died when I was still in diapahs, an I dunno why he didn't jus' put me up fer adoption er sumtin'. It'd be a hell of a lot bettah den dis crud I gotz tah put up wid now.

It'z tough bein' a Newsie. Headlines, deadlines, lyin', beggin', an starvin'. Sometimes all at once. It'z lonely, too. Ya nevah know who's yer friend an' who's not. It'd be nice tah have a true friend fer once. Someone who'll tell ya dey luv ya.

Hah, 'I luv ya.' Lessee, if I had a penny for every time someone tol' me dat, I'd be broke.