• I lean against the cold alley wall in the shadow of the surrounding buildings. I
    looked to the sky but as always the stars were hidden by the bright and flashing lights of the city. I listened to the city’s never changing soundtrack, waiting and shivering, when I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for, the soft scuffing sound of footsteps against the hard concrete of the side walk. Well, about time I think to myself as I push off the wall and onto the sidewalk after the passing man. Silently, sticking close to the building’s side and its cover of shadow like a stalking cat, I followed. This was the perfect target, obviously a business man, dressed in a dark, pressed suit with a clean, white dress shirt and neat red and blue, stripped tie. Talking on an expensive cell phone with an arm flashing a brand new watch which glittered and reflected the blinding light of the street lamp above the city cross walk. A few bucks out of his pocket wouldn’t be missed. He probably won’t even notice that it’s gone; at least that’s what I tell myself. Even as I try to convince myself that the man doesn’t need the money as much as I do, that he would understand, and even though I try to picture him as a terrible person who kicks puppies and drowns kittens, I still feel that annoying voice of my conscious pulling at me, that gut feeling of guilt, but it’s never enough to stop me, to win the war against my instinct. The nagging feeling disappears as I come to a stop beside the man. You got to do what you got to do and I have to survive.
    “Excuse me. What’s the time?” I said stepping up beside the man. He pulled up his wrist with the sparkling watch. Step one, Distract the target, like that old magician’s trick. Make them watch one hand… I made my move swiftly like a snake strike, with a quick acuity that came with practice; careful not to make any contact that would tip the man off to my scam and end my short window of opportunity. While the man looks at his watch I empty his coat pocket. I didn’t wait for his answer or look back to see the confused expression on his face as I walked smoothly away, blending with the crowd ahead. I wasn’t always a thief and there was a time I would have told you that what I did now was in error, but after I ran away I become homeless and alone, part of a group of loners, runaways and throwaways, on the edges of society looking in. No family or none that would welcome you and nowhere to go. Morals change when you’re fending for yourself, rules change, and the line between right and wrong becomes much thinner, blurred by the urge to survive. In a big city like New York people pass by me without looking twice. People only see what they want to see so they did not see me. With quick, nervous glances they hurry past as if afraid that talking to me will infect them with my disease of poverty. They walk down the street and they can pretend that I don’t exist, convincing themselves that I don’t need help, that I just want attention, but they just don’t want to step up or have to deal with that responsibility. They have there own lives to lead and can’t be bothered or they say that it’s our own fault that we are alone but there’s a story behind every tragedy and a cause behind every ending. One lapse in judgment leads to more until you hit the bottom and there’s no where left to go, and that’s where I am, without a choice.
    I learned how to carry on overtime. Learned how to beg, how to steal, and how cheat people out of there money. In the beginning I was naive and wouldn’t have survived long. I thought that there must be someone willing to help out of so many people rushing by, not everyone could ignore an obvious need for kindness, could they? So I asked for help, asked anyone who would listen, but was always turned away one way and my pleas fell on deaf ears. I learned the hard way that you don’t get what you need by asking for it, that there is no such thing as “goodwill” or “true kindness”. Yes, there were people who would give me a few dollars and some that would give a few more than the rest. Though you may think this is generous and ask how I could doubt there intentions, I know what it really was, the true motives behind there small acts of “kindness”. It was not for me they gave there money, it was for them. Those people where just easing there own guilt. They would not truly help me, never truly take me in, only pay me to go ask elsewhere, just to feel that they have done all they can, made a contribution. Passing me off, expecting that someone else would have the time to deal with me eventually but they all did the same thing. It’s like at the scene of an accident where everyone come by to look at the tragedy, pitying the poor fate of the victims, gawking and standing still in horror, but never anything more. I was still on my own. Even surrounded I was alone. Until I was shown the way by the person who didn’t have a life move on with or more important things to worry with in his daily routine, didn’t have some excuse to pass me off, someone who wasn’t afraid to help because he was just like me. He was another outsider looking in on the world, another loner who had already learned the cruel truth about people, and who opened my eyes to the real world and my path now. His name was Dan, and he taught me cheat, steal and , survive without having to rely on that uncommon donation of money to my fund for help. He told me how harsh New York can be because for loners it’s everyman for themselves and I was an easy and inexperienced target. That is how I got where I am. I was no longer naïve and no longer believed that I could survive on donations and pity. I wasn’t going to get any help; there was no one to lean on but me.
    I walked through the streets aimlessly. Without a schedule I had no need to be anywhere in particular so I wandered. The sky was a clear blue above the high reaching sky scrappers and billboards, like a cold day after it’s rained and there are no clouds left to block the view. It was cold but it was a dry cold, without humidity. I walked along the street in a mass of people at my own pace. I had bought new clothes last night, a cheap plain black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, but still new. I felt better than I had in a while, now that I had money that I could feel in my pocket, that had been empty for so long. It was a strong comforting feeling that I didn’t have to worry for a while. Even though I had some money to rely on I would soon dry out and I didn’t want o take the chance.
    In the beginning I stole very little, ashamed and contrite, but after I had gotten the feeling of security that having money brought, the sense protection, carelessness and purpose as I now had, I began to steal more and more often, afraid of going back to the destitute and dejected state of before. It had become more than just stealing to me. It had become a way to not feel helpless; a way to feel that there was a way out.
    As I walked down West 89th street I saw my new target. Walking toward me was an average looking man wearing a New York City sweatshirt with a camera slung around his neck, a tourist. His wallet was probably in his back pocket loaded with money for the expenses of his visit to the city, an easy catch. It would be a piece of cake, another slide of hand as I “accidently” run into the man which was not unusual on the tightly packed streets, distract and snatch. As he gets closer I slide over on the side walk. I ran into the unsuspecting man, just brushing into him, and I could see his wallet almost falling out of his back pocket, to easy! I thought to myself, almost suspiciously easy. Something is off. I small alarm was going off somewhere in my head triggered by small things about the man that seemed slightly off. He almost seemed like he expected me to run into him, like he was tensed for it, he almost played the role of a tourist, and it almost felt like he was slowing down as I bumped into him so I could grab his wallet which was insane!, but I figured the warning bell going off was just paranoia and I shouldn’t read to much into it, I reminded myself that I needed the money and of why I had to finish the job.
    I delicately grabbed the wallet like a piece in the game Operation and was almost passed the unlucky visitor with a feeling of unconscious relief that my worrying had all been suspicion when I felt a hard jerk pull me back by my arm. I was yanked back and spun, stumbling, around to face the angry and satisfied face of the tourist man. He was holding out a badge that was I never thought I would see.
    I felt a painful blow to my stomach that knocked the breath out of me and an impact to my cheek that made my head snap to the side and my check sting. The man was yelling at me but I couldn’t hear the words, they didn’t make sense. I was starring in wide eyed shock still taking in the last few seconds. I had known loners who disappeared, but I didn’t know if they had been caught for something or just in the wrong place, at the wrong time involved in the wrong things. I had been warned by Dan about undercover cops waiting to take us in, setting us up, but I never truly believed I would get caught. After all the time I had spent being over looked I thought it would never change, I thought the world had forgotten me and like me my actions were unnoticed, but I was wrong.
    The one thing that I had been holding on too, the feeling of security, the thing that I felt gave me a purpose and a goal had brought me here. I had spent all this time thinking that I could make my way back to a life, a life with some meaning other than survival, by stealing but you can’t make a life out of bad decisions and wrong turns, eventually everything catches up too you and you reach an end. I had lost my faith kindness, I had been convinced by Dan that the only choice was to steal my life back from those who ignored me, but I realized that maybe Dan didn’t know they way out either, maybe he was jealous of the people who passed by that were not trapped, people who had a purpose. Maybe he didn’t have the key to starting over like I had thought; maybe he was just as lost and had sent me the wrong direction. Just like smoking catches up with smokers, and drinking catches up with alcoholics in the end, my choices had caught up with me. Now all I could do was run and hope that I could escape my punishment for my mistakes, that there was still a way to join the people who were going somewhere, somewhere far away from where my life had lead me.