Author's Note: Here's chapter two. As you can see, this is what I meant about experimental: it's in letter form. And, I tell you, it took forever to find an address for a Brooklyn lodging house; there were two, eventually, that I found. This one, however, is about 2-3 blocks away from the Brooklyn Bridge (and East River) – the other is about 1-1.5 miles away – so I figure it would be best to make Spot closest to the Bridge and the River. I hope you guys like this.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly or any other character from the 1992 Disney musical, Newsies

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Not Here

Maybe in another time, another place, this might just have worked.
But not here.

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Liam 'Spot' Conlon
c/o Children's Aid Society Lodging House
61 Poplar Street
Brooklyn, New York 11201

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November 12, 1899

Spot,

How are you, buddy? Good I hope. I'm doing alright. I made it to Santa Fe, you know. It's nice here, almost as nice as I expected it to be. Did you know that Santa Fe ain't really part of America? I didn't. But it's still nice. Lots of Mexicans and, hell, even Indians here. Real goddamn Indians. Makes me feel real Irish, you know? I did learn a bit of Spanish, though. Hola. Means 'Hello'.

How's Brooklyn? That Bridge of your's still standing? Is it cold out there? It's gorgeous here. Always warm. Even now, mid-November, all I got on is my shirt and my trousers and I'm set. I got my cowboy hat, too. Not many people wear them over here, though. One of the first people I meant after hopping off the train, a little Mexican boy, called me vaquero. Means 'cowboy'. Neat, huh?

I wonder if you've been by Manhattan at all. I mean, I don't know what reasons you'd have to go there now but I just thought I'd ask. I miss the fellas, you know. And Sarah.

Shit. Sorry about that. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned her. Forget I did.

Wow, this letter just went awkward real quick. So, I guess I'll just cut through the bullshit. You know why you're holding this note in your hand – I know why I sent it to you.

I'm a coward, Spot. You know that. I can't be as brave as you, honest. I find that I constantly run away. When Francis Sullivan became too much for me, I left him behind. I became Jack Kelly. When the pressure of the strike and the threat of being thrown in the Refuge hit me, I turned scab.

When I couldn't face the truth about me and you, I panicked. And I ran.

And I'm sorry.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I gave up my chance to go to Santa Fe when good ol' Teddy Roosevelt offered me a ride to the train station. And I was happy. I didn't mind. I had great friends, a girl – sorry – and, for the first time in my life, respect. Shit, Spot. I had respect. Do you know how hard it was to turn away from that?

I had you, too. Don't think I don't care. I do. It's just that… I don't know. You were so honest with me. I couldn't do you right. I couldn't be honest back. I panicked.

I don't expect your forgiveness. Hell, all I expect is one heck of a black eye should I ever return to New York. But I want you to understand.

Can you understand?

I do care for you, Spot. Really. I ain't sure if it's the same way that you feel about me and all but I do care. And that's why I had to run.

I'm sorry.

- Jack