The Curb

[Racetrack Higgins]

Racetrack turned to the hand on his shoulder. "Excusez- eugh, me, monsieur," the lady said with an accent that Racetrack could barely understand. For a moment he thought he was just misunderstanding her, but then it occured to him that she was speaking another language. "Miss?" he said, half out of courtesy, and half out of confusion.

"I am interested in, eugh, purchasing a paper?"

Racetrack grinned. Now that was something he could understand. "Sure, lady, here ya go..." he held out a copy to her. "That's a penny to you..." he informed her, trying to front with his more-respectful voice. He would try to be courteous, because not only was he on Fifth Avenue, the lady had been his only customer for a while. He privately hoped the lady could understand English well enough to understand what he was saying. But as long as she gave him a penny, he didn't mind too much. Maybe he would have better luck on Fifth Avenue than he had planned...

[jinx]

The boy in front of her looked a bit confused at her speech, and although she herself would admit to not being extrordinarily eloquent, she was still a bit embarassed. Her cheeks flushed a pink color but she kept on a jovail smile, particularly when he grinned back at her.

This was a good sign. He had, in fact, understood what she deemed to be the most important part. "Merci beacoup," she said, handing him the penny. She looked at him for a few moments and looked at the headlines. None of them looked particularly interesting, and she did feel a bit bad for him. It wasn't as if he had penned the lackadaisical headline himself, he was just forced to sell it. That didn't seem fair.

She held out the nickel for him as well, looking up at him from the newspaper. The boy was a bit taller than her, which helped and hurt. It helped if he was looking down at her, still, but it hurt if he'd looked away. It would have been difficult to recapture his attention from there.

"Slow day?" she questioned, motioning to the rather unappetizing headlines sprawled across the ink-smudged pages.

[Racetrack Higgins]

"Merci beacoup," she told him. Racetrack had no idea what that meant, but he nodded and tipped his cap to her before pocketing the penny. He pulled another copy from the (sadly) still sizeable pile under his arm, ready to hand it to the next person who showed any interest. But he stopped when the woman held out a nickel for him to take.

He looked from the nickel to the woman. "For me?" he asked, confused. "Gee, you sure, lady?" The five cents was really something, and that would mean she would have given him six cents for a paper that cost a penny. Then it occured to him that maybe she hadn't understood him...maybe she didn't speak English all too good after all. "It's just a penny...I don't need that..." he tried to insist.

She asked him, "Slow day?", which eliminated any possibility of her not knowing English. Slowly he took the nickel and pocketed it after the penny. He said, "Thanks a lot, miss, no kiddin'. Definetly a slow day. I can sell fifty easy, now I'm havin' trouble with forty..."

[jinx]

Allena nodded when he asked her if she was sure, putting both hands on the paper in her hands to signal that she would not take it back. She smiled when he made the attempt to tell her that it was, in fact, not as expensive as the amount of money she was trying to give him. Ah, well, the bugger caught on quickly enough.

"It is not a problem. I understand vhat you mean, sort of. Some days are like zat, zough. S'ings cannot be interesting all ze time or else nos'ing vould be interesting at all....oui?" She seemed to be a bit uneasy about her wording. It was a varible thing, her ability to speak English well. American English, anyway. British English wasn't as much of an issue due to proximity.

[Racetrack Higgins]

"S'ings cannot be interesting all ze time or else nos'ing vould be interesting at all....oui?"

He shrugged. He had barely understood what she was saying, but he got the basic jist of it, and nodded in responce. "Guess so. But thanks a lot, lady. Not everyone's as nice as you'se in this city..." He looked directly for the first time. She wasn't as old as he had thought previously. She couldn't be much older than eighteen.

Out of pure curiosity he asked, "What're ya doin' up here, anyways?" He always wondered what people could be doing on Fifth Avenue. Such a ritzy neighborhood, everyone was always doing something they wouldn't be doing normally. It was a slow day, Racetrack hadn't talked to anyone all day, and this lady seemed ready to talk. He would humor her, at least.

[jinx]

Allena smiled, shrugging it off. "I vas going to spend it on a snack, but it vouldn't 'ave benefitted me in any vay. I dance, but eating before 'and it makes me feel .... uncomfortable if I do. It doesn't seem very easy to be a--eugh, 'ow do you call it?-- a newsboy..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"I am on my vay s'rough town to get nearer to vhere I am vorking. I 'ave time, zough, so I s'ought I vould valk s'rough zis part of town. I find it a more pleasing place to be, and zis is ze postmark zat I prefer to send letters to my parents s'rough. Zey see "Fifth Avenue" on the stamp and s'ink I am vell off. Even zey 'ave 'eard of ze infamous street even in Paris, and it pleases zem to s'ink I am doing...vell, better zan I am." She shrugged-- life was tough everywhere, even in Paris. But she could always pretend.

[Racetrack Higgins]

"I dance, but eating before 'and it makes me feel .... uncomfortable if I do."

"A dancer? No kiddin'!" Race exclaimed. Aside from the horse races, card games and selling papes, theater was one of his favorite things. He'd had the privelegde of meeting a few performers, but most of them were singers who were up on a high horse and acted like he wasn't important. "Where ya perform? Sorry, ya do perform, right?" He wasn't sure if she was a student of dance or not. She seemed young, so he wouldn't assume much.

"It doesn't seem very easy to be a--eugh, 'ow do you call it?-- a newsboy..."

Racetrack shurgged. "It ain't so bad. Ya just gotta know what you're doin'." He never tried to make the job sound glamorous, because without a doubt, it wasn't. But he wouldn't make it sound like it was the worst job in the world. There were plenty worse that Racetrack could think of, and if selling papers was so bad he wouldn't be doing it.

"I am on my vay s'rough town to get nearer to vhere I am vorking. I 'ave time, zough, so I s'ought I vould valk s'rough zis part of town."

"Nice neighborhood, eh?" he said. "A lot nicer than where I come from, I'll tell ya that..." He didn't go into much further description for fear of talking too much. "Where ya work, anyways?"

"Even zey 'ave 'eard of ze infamous street even in Paris, and it pleases zem to s'ink I am doing...vell, better zan I am."

Paris! Race knew that was in France, and explained the lady's odd accent. That was something, though. He had never met a Parisian before. "Ain't that a shame. You'se parents still live there?" he asked.

[jinx]

Allena beamed and nodded, enthusiastically, glad that someone was at least mildly interested in what she did. And even if he wasn't interested, he made it sound like he was. That was pretty much the key--she liked people who humored her. It may have just been the remnants of coming from Parisian wealth, or her naturally present ego. Either way, it liked to be touched upon, and frequently at that.

She nodded again when he inquired further into her profession. "Oui, I do perform. I've performed for a long time, but not alvays for pay. Part of it vas just learning. Upon immigrating, zough, I did begin to do it for money. I 'ad to. I dance at Caprice 'all in Queens. I practice all days except Sunday, and I perform by myself on Tuesdays and sometimes Wednesdays, and alvays vith a group on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Ze veekendsd pay best, so I prefer to work zem."

She was quite the talker when she got to talk about herself or her job. It was a terrible combination for people who were ill listeners, usually because profession and the self were two things that were touched upon first in conversations that were at least somewhat informal. Ah, well, it was their loss. This boy seemed keen on listening, though, and so she didn't pity him any.

"It ain't so bad. Ya just gotta know what you're doin'."

She smiled a bit, empathetically. That philosophy held true for her profession as well, although she was keen on boasting the difficulties of it. The rewards were higher than the pain, though, and she had to capitalize upon her youth to earn as much money as she could. Dancers could only perform ballet until a certain age, and she intended to have money in savings for when that day came from. "But still, I do not s'ink zat I vould be able to survive at all. No one vould be able to understand me, to start, and I vould not be able to 'andle ze rejection of people. Certainly zere are people who pay attention...but ze lot 'ere seem to be quite...eugh, ignorant."

Her wording didn't sound right to her, exactly, but it would suffice. She supposed he probably understood, and if not perhaps he would let it go unnoticed.

"Oh, yes, it is a very nice neighbor'ood..." she trailed off, tilting her head to the side, "Vhere do you come from?" She wondered if he lived near to her, or if she could even recognize the name of the place where he lived. She'd lived in the city for a few years, but she didn't know the ins and outs as well as most. Routine was her forte, and so she tended to stick to a few well traversed paths and was not often known to stray unless lead by someone else.

"Ain't that a shame. You'se parents still live there?"

She nodded, although she was not happy about the fact. "Oui, zey do. Zey send money now and again, but zey sent me 'ere because zey supposed I vould make more money performing 'ere zan in Paris. Zey mostly send ze money so zat I can care for my sister. Already zey are dissatisfied vith my lack of, eugh, a suitor, and 'ave let me know quite adamently in zere letters."

She shrugged. "It isn't my fault zat zey've got me working unusual hours very often. I simply cannot spend so much time out and about as is required, and I 'ave few connections 'ere. You know?" Maybe he didn't know. But she was getting to the age where she should indeed have at least some suitors, wealthy or not. Unfortunately that was not the case. Eighteen didn't exactly constitute her as an old maid, but it was on the latter end of the spectrum as far as spousal courters went. As far as she knew there weren't any interests. Her parents often chided her talkative nature, but she'd clearly never been cured of it.

The elder two Parisians were convinced that that was the reason no man was keen on her-- no man wanted a wife with a mouth that they used for talking. As far as many men were concerned, mouths were useful in other places, and in conversation wasn't one of them. The bedroom, however, was.

[Racetrack Higgins]

"Certainly zere are people who pay attention...but ze lot 'ere seem to be quite...eugh, ignorant."

He chortled humorlessly. "You're tellin' me! You gotta see some of the snobs and scumbags I deal with...this guy the other day tries to give me some kind of Swedish money or somethin' and pass it off as a penny, can ya believe that? Then this other lady keeps askin' for change when she gave me a penny exactly..." He shook his head. "I gotta deal with more morons than you've prolly ever seen in your life."

"Vhere do you come from?"

"Me?" Race said. "Well...Lower Manhattan, I think. I mean, it's closer to the World Building and all that. Not too good of a neighborhood, but I don't mind it so much. It's all I ever known." He wondered what it must have been like to be born in a different country. Racetrack's entire world was Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs.

"Already zey are dissatisfied vith my lack of, eugh, a suitor, and 'ave let me know quite adamently in zere letters."

Race's brow furrowed. "A suitor?" he echoed, and thought for a moment. "Oh! Yeah, one of those. They expect ya to get one just like that? How long ya been here?" He chuckled. "Ya try tellin' 'em it ain't that easy in a city where you see people once and only once?" It was true. The number of people that he passed in a day, he would consider it a miracle if he could recognize one of them again. "Or is it the same kind of thing in Paris?"

[jinx]

Jinxy smiled, glad that she didn't have to deal with people all that often in her profession. People often tried to scam you, as the boy had just pointed out. She could deal with the snobby girls---they were just like her. Only most of them still had money, and that was all the difference.

"I could imagine ze difficulties," she said, thoughtfully. She arched her eyebrow when he said lower Manhattan. "I looked for an apartment zere, after we could no longer afford my aunt's up near 'ere," she said, a bit embarassed by that. "I did not find one zough. I live on ze...I s'ink it is ze vest side of Man'attan. It's a long distance to vork, but zey pay best." She shrugged.

She even let out a quiet laugh when he inquired about her parent's expectations. "I know, it is, eugh, ridiculous. I've been 'ere about four years, even zough my English is not so good. But like you said, it isn't easy to meet people and keep them as friends, and even if you do it is very uncertain zat zey vould vant to pursue you as a suitor." She shrugged again, "My parents say it is because I am too, eugh, talkative."

[Sweets]

Sweets Hawked headlines as she made her way down the street. Fifth Avenue was one of her usual spots, not because it was the best place to sell, but because she didn't like moving in on other newsies' spots and this was usually all that was left. As she passed by an older woman who sneered at the sight of a girl dressed as Sweets was, she caught the sound of a distinct voice. Craning her neck she looked across the street and, seeing just who she suspected, a small grin spread across her face. Shuffling her papers into one arm she scampered across the street past a carriage and stepped up onto the opposite curb. As she approached she raised an eyebrow, a grin still playing at her lips. "Whattya think you're doin' Higgins?"

[Racetrack Higgins]

"My parents say it is because I am too, eugh, talkative."

Her, talkative? Race pshawed the idea. "If your folks wanna see talkative, they should meet some of the kids I hang around. Boy oh boy...compared to some of the fellas I know, you're silent..." There was a difference between being talkative and being a good conversationalist. Talkative people rambled on about things no one cared about. A good conversationalist talked a lot, but it was about things relevant to the conversation. Race considered this lady to be the latter. Himself...well, he could be both. "You know somethin'? I don't think I got your name just yet, miss..."

He was interrupted by a voice at his elbow: "Whattya think you're doin' Higgins?" He turned to see Sweets standing there, having come from the opposite street. What a smart mouth she was turning out to be today. Racetrack decided to return the favor. "I'm sellin' papes, Sweets. Why don't you?" he sneered, letting some sarcasm leak into his voice, just in case she was kidding.

[Sweets]

Sweets smirked at his snide remark, putting her hands up in defense. "Woah, whatsa matter with you?" She glanced briefly at the beautiful girl standing across from him when her eyes caught sight of the paper in her hands. Oooh. Sweets had assumed she was just a customer buying a paper, but she clearly had already done her purchasing and was lingering around for another purpose. Sweets cleared her throat awkwardly, taking a step back. "Ah nevahmind Race, I'll catch ya later, yeah?" She looked to the girl and attempted a polite head nod as she turned and left. As she walked back through the crowds she waited until she was a good distance away before returning to the obnoxious shouting of headlines to the various passersby.

[Racetrack Higgins]

"Ah nevahmind Race, I'll catch ya later, yeah?"

"See ya, Sweets..." Race said with a nod, and turned back to the lady. "Friend of mine...we live in the Lodging House together..." Race always saw newsies he knew on the streets. That was where they spend most of their time, and there were enough of them so that you couldn't go a day without seeing at least a few people. "Sorry 'bout that. Anyways...ah...where was I?" He had lost his train of thought.

[manhattan]

>>>New Day<<<
Manhattan sat on the curb. Bored out of her mind and completely lost. "Stupid big houses dat ya cant climb to see where ya are" she mumbled to herself. She'd lost her pencil earlier that day and so she was at a lost of where/ what to do. Obviously she wasnt dressed the best but she wasn't no bum either. Still the people here avoided her like the plague. Today was an off day and it was well past noon, her stomach was growling and she hadnt even sold half her papes yet.
"Stupid Wednesdays." she muttered and kicked a rock across the street, with her shoe.