Gate.
Snow had fallen quickly and in a manner thin enough that it would be melted off by supper-time. Still, it was a pretty sight and for someone not quite accustomed to the cold, it was a temporary chill. Lined against outside of the half-block of wrought-iron fence were several young miscreants, and they were smoking in a circle.
Tobacco always tasted better with the cool wind and bite of frost in the air. The warm breath of smoke seemed to fill the insides, starting with the lungs and settling (even if only fictionally) in the stomach.
"Ain't nothin' doin."
There were five in total, all ranging in the ages of seventeen to eighteen. Once they could no longer prove being children, the business of selling papers became nearly impossible. No one wanted to buy from a bum when there were streets lined with cute little ones desperate to scrape up money for a simple meal.
"Well, I'll tell you what. You get a job there, you put in a good word for me."
On the inside of the fence was a church. It wasn't the kind manned with a flock of nuns, nor the kind with spectacularly high ceilings. Though it definitely could not be mistaken for anything other than a catholic church, the congregation was rather small and only three priests held up the responsibilities of its operation.
"You getta red suit if you join