I sat there on the flat uncomfortable cot utterly confused as Shadow began the story, the room still unlit, the door still ajar.

"I'll tell ye de story startin wid me. I, growin up, was not much mora a rat den any a youse woikin kids…"

A 17 year old boy named Charlie rushed down the dingy street as a cold wind whipped around him. He pulled at the thin coat he wore, trying somehow to make it warmer, wanting badly to keep out the piercing cold and wind. He was on his way to work the night at a bar that he was lucky enough to be hired at when he needed a second job. He lived in Harlem, New York and this winter had been the bitterest he could ever remember. Every morning after finishing at the bar, he went home, a hole in the wall room he shared with his ailing father, and slept until he woke up and went to work at a sweatshop nearby. He hated his life and he was bitter for it even at his young age. His mother, whom had been his only comfort and support, had died a few years before, killed in a machinery accident at the same sweat shop he worked at now. His father was a drunk, and the way Charlie knew him best was when he had a bottle in his hand, yelling at him for some reason or another. He couldn't remember ever a moment when his father had acted tender or loving towards his wife or Charlie just as he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't worked. Now his father was sick and Charlie worked non stop just to keep up what they had now. Charlie hardly even knew why he bothered anymore. The work would not get him anywhere, his father would die, he knew, and there was no other purpose for him to exist. He was tired of the pain, and physically as well. Stuck on the endless cycle of work and nothing more, he felt rung out.

Somewhere along his way he missed the bar where he was supposed to take the next shift on clean-up, but he hardly noticed. He just continued to walk until he was in a place he didn't recognize. It seemed to be a much wealthier neighborhood than defiantly he was accustomed to. Exhaustion was making the edges of his sight go fuzzy and he realized he hadn't eaten in over a day. As he trudged up the cold street he came upon a beautiful house, the like of which he had never seen. The lights within, on the dark night, seemed to make it glow. He stopped and gazed at it, imagining the warmth and grandeur of the inside. As he surveyed it a figure in a window caught his eye. She looked to be a young girl, around his age with ebony hair and vulnerable dark eyes. Captivated, as he was sure she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he stood there until from exhaustion he passed out cold onto the pavement.

When he awoke he was sure he must still be dreaming. Beneath him he felt a soft mattress and surrounding him was a blanket of warmth. Wanting to stay in that warm and wonderful place he kept his eyes shut until he heard a girl's voice next to him.

"Hm I was so sure he was awake," said the voice and out of curiosity Charlie opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was an angel – the girl in the window stood next to him peering down into his face.

"Oh!" she gasped surprised. "Are ye alright? He's awake Milly!" And as she called into the other room a maid dressed in uniform walked in, carrying a large tray of food.

"Oh good, the tray won be getting cold then," She said. "What's yer name son?" She asked him.

"Charlie" he managed to croak out and she handed him a glass of water.

"Eat, you look half starved to me" the maid pushed the tray towards him and he didn't object. He began to eat and the food tasted like glory in his starved mouth. The maid named Milly bustled out of the room leaving him and the girl alone.

"My name's Angela," She told him taking a seat next to the bed he was lain out upon. "I saw you collapse outside and I had the servents carry you in here. What happened to you?" she looked genuinely concerned which was a strange feeling for Charlie, who lived a bitter life empty of any sort of caring.

"I guess im jus ova woiked…cant keep up. As id is, im late fer my night job, I gotta go," he attempted to sit up but she pushed him back onto the bed.

"Ye don look well enough to me to go and work all night. You're not going anywhere yet." She said matter of factly as if that was the end of that. "Besides shouldn't you just take advantage of my hospitality? You look like you are in the need for some."

He continued eating and as he did he looked at her. "huh," he thought, she had "typical rich goil" written all over her, from her silky curled hair to her perfect white dress. But he supposed she seemed nice enough. At least he was getting something to eat and some comfort from this. Charlie never thought much of rich folks and especially their kids, they didn't know what it was like to have nothing, they were born being fed from a silver spoon. He couldn't understand why some people could have so much and some just have nothing, like him.

"How old are you?" She asked him, watching him right back. She was intrigued by the shabby boy she had pulled from the street outside. Never had she really associated with any poor working class people her age or let alone any age. At her rich private school and friends she knew by her parent's friends she didn't know much of the hardships of life on the streets or that life had any real hardships like what Charlie knew.

"Seventeen," he replied, "Whudd about you?"

"I'm seventeen too," she seemed excited by the prospect that they had even that in common. "Where do you go to school?"

"I don," he said and shrugged, "all I can do is woik fer me livin."

"Well what do your parents do?" she asked with a confused look upon her face.

Charlie wasn't in the best mood to deal with some prissy rich girl, who didn't know her right from her left. "Me mudda's dead and me fatha's dyi. Betcha not used te talkin te any ol street trash like me eh?" he said it rudely but he didn't care.

"Oh…" she looked hurt and he could see the innocence and vulnerability on her face, "I'm sorry…I guess you're right, I don't know anything about…" she trailed off he supposed not knowing how to word it without sounding rude.

"My sorta life. I get it." He set the tray on the table next the bed and sat up. This time however, she didn't stop him.

"I should get te woik, I don wan dem te fire me if I don show up, I need dis job…" he said and with reluctance pushed off the warm bedding and got up.

"What is your job?" she asked him as he walked towards the door.

"I woik at one a de bars in de slums. But uh, thanks fer de food an all." he turned to leave.

"You work at a bar? At night? That's dangerous!" she said alarmed and got up, "Its not a safe place to be down there, isn't there somewhere else you can go?"

"Nuttin dat I know of, an I doubt ye can help me."

"Well I might be able to…" but as she was speaking he exited the room, the door shutting firmly behind him.