Ok so I finally got some more of this up. I had to basically rethink the whole story since it had been so long, so sorry for any style changes and such (it's been 3 years!) and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 3: Old Friends

With slight hesitation the filthy fingers loosened their grip on the stack of newspapers. The small heap tumbled into the garbage can and released a deep thud when they found the bottom. The day had been going terrible but despite the major events of the night before Tumbler had no choice but to sell. What little possessions he had actually acquired in his life time were consumed by the flames. If he wanted to eat or sleep someplace warm and dry he had to make a few pennies.

The day had progressed slowly, the time filled with muses of what happened, what was going to happen, and the friends that had not been found. The evening editions were already rolling off the presses when Tumbler had noticed he had almost as many papers as he started the day with. The new edition left his merchandise virtually worthless so trashing them was the only option.

His profit for the day was virtually nothing and he glanced wearily back into the trash at his abandoned goods. How could he have expected himself to sell the day after his home burnt down? The day had been one void of food but tomorrow would be too. What money he made had to go to buy papers if he ever wanted a meal again.

He practically became a zombie. He was walking without direction; his mind so riddled with thoughts that nothing was coherent. Unknowingly of how long he had walked, Tumbler finally regained some consciousness. He took in his surroundings, let out a deep sigh, and ran his hand down his face finally grasping his chin. He was on Dune Street. It must have been out of sheer habit or something of the sort because the lodging house gone and there was nothing here for him. He took a breadth and ventured forward anyways- he was at a loss of what to do anymore.

A small group of people were gathered before the remains of what was once the Lodging House. One story of the building had collapsed onto the floor beneath it. A mixture of steam and smoke was still slithering its way from the charred remains. The buildings adjacent to the Lodging House had suffered as well, one of them was damaged enough to deem it inhabitable which just put more tenants onto the harsh New York streets.

Tumbler scanned the crowd. A few newsies he recognized were looking around obviously in the same lost mind frame as him. A cop was pacing in front of the rubble, probably in efforts to keep civilians out of the ruins. Some women were gossiping loudly about the cause of the fire (a few claiming arson, others blaming the impure ways of street children, the most absurd being a rumor of political scandal – but really who cared enough to see a scandal in burning down a newsboy house?).

One man in particular caught Tumbler's eyes. He was sitting across the street away from the crowd and was seated atop a crate which he most likely pulled from a nearby alleyway. His clothes were worn and faded, like most people of lower class, and he had a cap pulled low casting a dark shadow across his face. A small tuft of brown hair curled out from under its edges. Something about the way he slouched and basic posture just looked familiar.

Falling back from the crowd, Tumbler slowly made his way closer to the lone man in attempts to gain a better view. The shadow across his face was just right, forcing Tumbler within a few yards. He tried to be casual and look unsuspicious so he pulled out a cigarette and held it between his lips without lighting it.

The man shifted his weight causing the crate to moan a long, low creak. He didn't even turn his head when he spoke, "What you lookin' at kid?" he had a sullenness to his voice, "and if you're going to smoke light the damn cigarette..."

Tumblers eyes widened- he couldn't believe it. That slightly acidic tone was all too familiar to him. Though it had been years the voice was one fresh in his mind. Tumbler's lip curled up into his normal crooked smile.

"'Fraid I'm lookin' at a jackass…"Tumbler shoot back as his slid a lighter from his pocket and proceeded to sear the tip of the cigarette.

The man whipped his head around to face Tumbler. He narrowed his eyes and looked the younger boy over before snapping his head back without a word.

"Common mister, did I hurt yer pride or somethin'?" Tumbler egged on, his voice filled with a light frivolity.

"Kid, you better watch it..." Tumbler started to laugh uncontrollably after the man spoke. That's what broke him. The man jumped at Tumbler and pushed him forcefully against the wall causing his hat and cigarette to plunge to the ground.

Tumbler looked down at his attacker (he was a good four inches taller) and held up his arms in surrender. "Hey cool it, Skittery!" He said innocently.

Skittery immediately loosened his grip but did not let go. He keenly studied the face looking down at him desperately trying to place it.

"Common! It's me, Tumbler!"

Skittery's jaw dropped slightly and he released his hold completely, standing dumbfounded. He had not seen Tumbler for four years. The last time he was a foot shorter and fifteen years old. Now the boy was nearly six foot and was on the verge of being a man.

Tumbler scooped up his hat and placed it back on his head; as for the cigarette he blew at the coals to feed them oxygen until they were again glowing bright orange and replaced it between his lips. "Scared ya didn't I?"

Skittery again furrowed his brow and gave him an impatient stare. He virtually was the same as the last time Tumbler saw him. He still had his dark brown hair and eyes to match and the gloomy look that he carried ninety percent of the time. The only difference was that he traded in ink stains for grease stains. His hands were void of the tell-all black stains but instead were cracked and calloused hinting at tedious manual labor.

"You didn't scare me," Skittery snorted, "you irritated me! And what happened to you anyways, you got so big!" His scowl slowly reversed into a slight smile. To be honest, Skittery was excited to see such an old friend. Tumbler had been nearly an adopted little brother when they were both newsies. He had been one of the few that Skittery tolerated day in and day out. Tumbler even got to the point where he imitated his "brother". However time moved on and so did Skittery consequently loosing touch with many of the friends he had once had.

"I grew up. Ya know I'm seventeen now." He smiled proudly and took a deep drag. Upon his exhale he asked, "Where you been anyways? I thought you left this town." Immediately Tumbler regretted his question- if Skittery was the same as he remembered, he was not one to pry at with personal questions. Skittery's face hardened slightly, the last think he wanted to talk about was his current life. He had nothing exciting to tell, nothing to say he had accomplished; instead he found himself trapped in indefinite poverty, a mundane job, and life he felt was worthless. Sadly it was the same situation as the majority of the city.

"I been around..." He answered vaguely and shifted uncomfortably under Tumbler's gaze.

Tumbler quickly fixed his fault by motioning to the nearby rubble. "So how'd you hear?"

Skittery put his hands into his pockets and kicked at the ground. "Sometimes I walk by," he admitted quietly, "ya know? To remember. I was there for along time." In all honesty he passed the lodging house all the time. Being a newsie was the highlight of his short life. It had been the only time he really had friends or a family for that matter. If it wasn't for looking to mature he would still be selling papers. Tumbler nodded in agreement, understanding his friend without having to hear it – he always was able to understand Skittery that way. Skittery creased his forehead once more and continued, "I was goin' to work this morning and saw it. Been here ever since."

It so strange, Tumbler thought silently, he hasn't lived here for so long but it was sill his home.

Skittery sat heavily back onto the crate, again causing it to groan in protest to his weight. Tumbler rested against the wall and slid along it to the ground. The two of them sat in silence gazing at their past. The only movement was the thin line of smoke rising from Tumblers cigarette.

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One more chapter down! Please review! Chapter 4 is almost done as well so keep an eye out.