I don't own Newsies, or the song swing street.
Sapphy, thanx for the reviews.
The boys entered Miss Media Larksin's club. The air was somewhat musty and reeked of cigarette smoke. Sport looked around, liking what he was seeing. It was just the place for a guy like him to blend him. There were lots of pretty girls and booze. The whole party scene had been something he had missed most about Chicago, besides White Sox baseball of course.
He shook his head quickly like a dog trying to dry off from a bath. It had been a long walk to the place, and it had poured the entire way there. Race cringed slightly as water from Sports light brown hair splashed him, then laughed. "Come on kid, I'm we enough already."
"Would you please stop calling me kid? I'm probably not that much younger then you."
"Sorry kid. How old is you anyways?" Race laughed.
"I'm uh, fifteen."
Race gave him a strange look. "You don't sound to sure of yourself their kid." Sport opened his mouth to defend himself, but Race stopped him. "Shh, Medda's about to perform. Sport looked up, seeing a good-looking woman on stage. She began to sing an older song.
It's raining sorrow
And nothing but bad news
You know I've had it up to here
Living with these blues
But I won't let it get me down
It's not the only game in town
In my mind
I'm going to swing street.
Sport looked at the women, amazed by both her voice and her song. She seemed to be singing just for him that night.
I'm a dreamer
On a rough road
And I need to hear the music once again
When there's nothing but bad news
I've got a way to beat the blues
In my mind
I'm going to swing street
Sport listened; hoping the song would never end. Race and David looked over at him, laughing slightly to themselves. They could both remember the first time they had heard Medda sing, knowing she had that kind of affect on people. Sport would be dreaming good dreams tonight.
The song did eventually end, and the boys walked over into the backstage area. They were easily allowed in, the security guards knew most of the newsies, and everyone everywhere seemed to know Racetrack. The waited back stage for Medda to come out and greet them. When she did appear, she was all dressed up in pink frills and ruffles.
"Racetrack, David, two of my favorite newsies." She looked over Sport for a second. "And who is this good looking gray eyed boy you bring me?" She smiled, dusting him slightly with her pink feather, an initiation she seemed to have for most newsies she met.
Racetrack gave the proper introductions "Medda, this is Sport. Sport, Medda. The boy comes to us from Chicago."
"Chicago huh?" She giggled. "I have an Uncle living there. He says it's a crazy place to live. Lot's of factory owners cheating their workers and such."
"Yeah, but you get used to it."
"It doesn't sound to different from New York to me." Race said.
"Except we have less corn here." David added. Sport jokingly punched him lightly in the stomach.
"Well if you boys are hungry, go to the bar and tell 'em Medda said to let you get what ever you want. I'll be out in a minute to make sure he does." The newsies went out and got food. They ate until they where full before Race decided it was time to go back to the lodging house.
"Hey, Sport, where you been sleepin' these last few weeks." Race asked.
He didn't want to respond. He'd been sleeping in any alley or park he could find, hoping that the police wouldn't catch him and send him to an orphanage. "Umm, I've been finding places." He said. He had always been a bad liar. He felt guilty doing it anyway.
"Well, if you can't find a place tonight, we got room at the newsies lodging house. Two of our guys left to go work in a factory. Said the pay was better. So if you wanna come with me."
Sport didn't hesitate. The most comfortable sleep he had had in a long while was on the train ride to Manhattan. "Yeah, sure. I'm there." "Great. You can even go sell with us tomorrow if you want." Race told him.
Sport smiled. He was happy to have something familiar to hang onto. And nothing came easier to him then selling papers.
Sapphy, thanx for the reviews.
The boys entered Miss Media Larksin's club. The air was somewhat musty and reeked of cigarette smoke. Sport looked around, liking what he was seeing. It was just the place for a guy like him to blend him. There were lots of pretty girls and booze. The whole party scene had been something he had missed most about Chicago, besides White Sox baseball of course.
He shook his head quickly like a dog trying to dry off from a bath. It had been a long walk to the place, and it had poured the entire way there. Race cringed slightly as water from Sports light brown hair splashed him, then laughed. "Come on kid, I'm we enough already."
"Would you please stop calling me kid? I'm probably not that much younger then you."
"Sorry kid. How old is you anyways?" Race laughed.
"I'm uh, fifteen."
Race gave him a strange look. "You don't sound to sure of yourself their kid." Sport opened his mouth to defend himself, but Race stopped him. "Shh, Medda's about to perform. Sport looked up, seeing a good-looking woman on stage. She began to sing an older song.
It's raining sorrow
And nothing but bad news
You know I've had it up to here
Living with these blues
But I won't let it get me down
It's not the only game in town
In my mind
I'm going to swing street.
Sport looked at the women, amazed by both her voice and her song. She seemed to be singing just for him that night.
I'm a dreamer
On a rough road
And I need to hear the music once again
When there's nothing but bad news
I've got a way to beat the blues
In my mind
I'm going to swing street
Sport listened; hoping the song would never end. Race and David looked over at him, laughing slightly to themselves. They could both remember the first time they had heard Medda sing, knowing she had that kind of affect on people. Sport would be dreaming good dreams tonight.
The song did eventually end, and the boys walked over into the backstage area. They were easily allowed in, the security guards knew most of the newsies, and everyone everywhere seemed to know Racetrack. The waited back stage for Medda to come out and greet them. When she did appear, she was all dressed up in pink frills and ruffles.
"Racetrack, David, two of my favorite newsies." She looked over Sport for a second. "And who is this good looking gray eyed boy you bring me?" She smiled, dusting him slightly with her pink feather, an initiation she seemed to have for most newsies she met.
Racetrack gave the proper introductions "Medda, this is Sport. Sport, Medda. The boy comes to us from Chicago."
"Chicago huh?" She giggled. "I have an Uncle living there. He says it's a crazy place to live. Lot's of factory owners cheating their workers and such."
"Yeah, but you get used to it."
"It doesn't sound to different from New York to me." Race said.
"Except we have less corn here." David added. Sport jokingly punched him lightly in the stomach.
"Well if you boys are hungry, go to the bar and tell 'em Medda said to let you get what ever you want. I'll be out in a minute to make sure he does." The newsies went out and got food. They ate until they where full before Race decided it was time to go back to the lodging house.
"Hey, Sport, where you been sleepin' these last few weeks." Race asked.
He didn't want to respond. He'd been sleeping in any alley or park he could find, hoping that the police wouldn't catch him and send him to an orphanage. "Umm, I've been finding places." He said. He had always been a bad liar. He felt guilty doing it anyway.
"Well, if you can't find a place tonight, we got room at the newsies lodging house. Two of our guys left to go work in a factory. Said the pay was better. So if you wanna come with me."
Sport didn't hesitate. The most comfortable sleep he had had in a long while was on the train ride to Manhattan. "Yeah, sure. I'm there." "Great. You can even go sell with us tomorrow if you want." Race told him.
Sport smiled. He was happy to have something familiar to hang onto. And nothing came easier to him then selling papers.
