Author Note: First off, thank you to everyone who reviewed 'In Passing.' I gave me a nice shot of confidence.

Leo Oneal, FF Demon-angel and Chibi Rose Angel – you guessed right.

Oh, and because I forgot, here's the disclaimer – I don't own them. I don't even own a car.

I didn't mean for this to happen, okay? It's not like I woke up one morning and just decided to become a thief. All I wanted to do was escape.

People stream by me as I skulk in the mouth of an alley. I'm trying to hide, but I guess there's no need. Any one with half an eye open can tell I'm homeless and that makes you invisible.

I'm looking for a victim.

It's getting dark, which is good for stealing, but it's getting colder too, and I wasn't too warm to begin with. My fingers feel stiff and clumsy, even when I stuff them in my pockets – also not good for stealing. I can smell hotdogs, from a stand down the street. My stomach doesn't just growl – it claws at me. And underneath my filthy coat are bruises smeared across my ribs, aching and biting when I breathe too deep.

I don't know what I'm doing, that's the problem. This isn't my neighbourhood. In the past three weeks some people have been friendly, some have been crazy, and some have beat the hell out of me because I touched their dumpster. I've never stolen anything in my life, except twenty dollars from my mom's purse once, and even then I used it for food. That was during one of her 'down' times. She could get by on gin and cigarettes then, but I needed to eat.

You know, there were times when I'd just look at her, passed out in our squalid little apartment, or collapsed in the stairwell when she couldn't quite make it home, and I'd think 'Mom, what's wrong with you?' How did she get so screwed up? Couldn't she tell that all those 'boyfriends' she had were losers, criminals, perverts? But she didn't even seem to see when her new one kicked me across the kitchen. I'd looked at him funny, he said.

I just wanted to escape.

I see a victim. A middle-aged man stops to talk to a friend, right in front of me. Told you I was invisible. Perhaps If I move fast enough I can be just another shadow.

I ease out onto the street. There's so much life here. People and lights and stores. It's not a world I'm a part of anymore.

My heart races. Makes me feel dizzy. God, I need something to eat.

My hand slips into his coat pocket. Grasps a wallet.

'Hey!'

He turns round and grabs my arm. I wrench back, still holding the wallet, but he won't let go. His friend darts forward to try and help and I manage to pull to one side, out of his reach for a second. Panic rises. I lash out, my fingers curled in a loose fist, punching the guy in the nose. He cries out and shakes me. He's stronger than I thought, or maybe I'm weaker.

I punch him again. He slumps to the ground but he won't let go. I kick him and kick him, desperate, until his hand slides away and I'm free.

I run.

I weave through alleys I don't recognise, tripping over garbage. I stop because I can't run anymore, not because I feel safe.

I lean against a wall and try to catch my breath. It refuses to be caught. I think about my foot driving into the man's ribs and how my knuckles hurt from hitting him. My heartbeat won't slow down.

I throw up. My throat burns and I'm emptier than ever.

I think I'm fainting. All the lights are fading.

But then I see – two guys blocking the light, their faces cut harsh by shadows. I wonder what they're doing here; they don't look homeless. Muggers?

'Hand over the money, kid.'

Yeah, muggers.

One pins me up against the wall. The other uncurls my fingers from around the smooth leather of the wallet. It's not that difficult.

They're going to get mean. I can tell before they even share a look and laugh, and the first fist connects with my jaw. I don't even care that much.

They hit me in the ribs and I crumple, all my breath gone. I wasn't going to fight them, I've never been good at fighting, but now I've got no choice. I just curl up on the cold, greasy, stinking alley floor and hope they get bored soon.

There's this weird, muffled grunt and suddenly they're not beating me anymore. I lift up my head and see this little guy in a trench coat and some sort of old-fashioned hat, knocking the guys around like they're toys. They keep coming at him, one even draws a knife, but he just kicks it away. It's not long before they run.

He chases a few steps after them, then stops. I'm half praying for him to go. This is just too weird. He's dressed like some private eye out of a black and white movie, but those moves were some sort of martial art, I'm sure of it.

He bounces on his heels for a second and then whirls back round to face me. I manage to get up. I draw back against the wall. My bones feel like they've been rattled loose in my joints. I see the wallet and scoop it up despite the pain.

'So, kid, you okay?'

I nod.

'You sure?' He's got a friendly voice. Kind of young, lively. 'You got a –' He gestures towards my face. I touch it tentatively and find it slick with blood from a cut on my temple.

'I'm okay,' I mumble. 'Not deep.'

'In that case – you want to give up the wallet?'

I knew it. I knew no one was going to help me. 'No,' I say. 'It ain't yours.' But he can just take it if he wants. I don't doubt that.

'I know it's not mine. I'm giving it back to that guy you attacked.'

I feel sick with shame when he says that. 'I didn't mean to!'

'So, what, you did it by accident?'

Curses build up in my throat. I bite them back. I don't want to make him mad.

'That was a joke, kid. Don't be scared of me.' He's peering at me through the dark. 'New round here, huh?'

I nod.

'Finding it tough?'

Another nod.

'You know, there's a shelter about two blocks east.'

'I'm not going there.'

'Why?'

'They'll try and make me go home.'

He does that bouncing on his heels thing again. 'And you don't want that.' It's a flat statement, not a question. 'They won't make you do anything.'

I want out of this alley, this whole situation. 'Fine I'll go. I'll go right now.'

He blocks my exit. 'Kid, there's better ways of getting by. Believe me. You don't need to steal.'

'Get out of my way!' I try to shove past him. He just pushes me away, nothing rough, but strong. I stagger back and he steadies me.

'Whoa, careful there!' I see a flash of white teeth. He's smiling.

I give up right then. I can't win. 'Here, take it.' I throw the wallet down. 'Take it, I don't care.'

He picks it up. 'I don't think you get it.' He walks slowly down the alley, tugging me along. 'Look, I'm giving it back. You can watch.'

I thought I'd run far, but in less than a minute we're at the alley mouth. The man I attacked is standing a little way down the street, talking to a small group of people. One of them, a woman, is dabbing at his face with a tissue while he makes angry gestures with his hands.

'Wait here.' The guy next to me hurries off towards the group. I can't hear what he says, but he hands the wallet over, turns, and leaves.

He ducks back into the alley.

'What'd he say?' I ask.

'Not much. Mostly – "What? How? Huh?"' He shakes his head and in a tone of mock sadness, says, 'I don't get no respect.'

I laugh a little. It makes my chest hurt, but seems to please him.

He digs around in his coat pockets. 'Here.'

He's holding out a crumpled bill. I don't move. 'Get something to eat and then . . .' He shrugs.

I don't know why I'm reluctant to take his money. Maybe because he's obviously a decent guy, and I'm not.

'I'm not hungry.'

I see the white flash of a smile again. 'Dude, I can hear your stomach from here.'

I take the money. He smiled, nods, turns to go.

'Remember what I said kid, okay? About the stealing?'

'Okay.' He moves into the stream of people and is gone. I look at the money in my hand. Ten dollars.

I'm going to get something to eat, though not here. And then . . . well, there's a shelter two blocks east.