The young man was firmly hauled into the police station, his squirming feet barely touching the steps as he twisted in the air between the officers on either side of him. Dragged past other assorted criminals, he was eventually slammed down into a chair across from a portly officer with a mustache, who focused a withering stare on the teenage boy. Keats grinned back, playfully lifting his manacled hands in a dramatic plea for freedom.

The officer growled, “Don’t start with me, kid. We’ve got enough goddamn crime in this city to keep me busy for the rest of my life, and now they’ve got me dealing with runaway assholes like you. You ARE John Keats?”

Keats reclined back in the chair, crossing his legs. Using his bound hands, he brushed his dark brown hair back away from his green eyes. After aimlessly surveying his surroundings, he nodded.

“Weird name for a punk kid like you.”

Keats sighed, placing his hands in his lap as he scanned the officer’s desk. “I suppose you’d think so, Officer Christie. But I had the pleasure of choosing my own name when I was 14. A rare perk for those who grow up in orphanages and don’t have any guardians to enforce a traditional moniker upon them. But I was old enough to know that it suits me. More people should do it. Just think how ill “James Christie” fits you, when you could have more accurately called yourself “Donutbreath McFuckleface”.

The officer glared at the teenager for a second as a goomba chortled in a waiting area across the room.

“Joke around all you want, kid. In about 2 minutes you won’t be my problem anymore. Someone’s been waiting here to collect you. Just got off the phone with her.”

“I suppose she sounded like an enraged cow of some sort. Probably some bellowing involved. If I told you that she’s the headmistress of the orphanage who forces her charges to get jobs so that she can just take their earnings for “payment”… I don’t suppose that’s something you’d be interested in pursuing in a criminal justice manner?”

The officer’s smile clearly indicated a lack of interest.

“I assumed so. Silly to think of the law actually helping everyday people. Well, I can’t entirely hate Headmistress Walters; anyone who keeps a library that wonderful can’t be entirely evil, I’m sure. But I have no intention of returning to a state of indentured servitude for her.”

The sound of a woman clearing her throat in the close vicinity elicited a sigh from the young man. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”

The officer nodded, and Keats, after his handcuffs were removed, allowed himself to be guided out of the chair and down the hall by a stern, matronly woman with no trace of joy on her face, whose expression did not change even as they stood silently on the sidewalk outside the station.

“This is the last time, John. Next time I’ll let you rot in there.”

“We both know that’s a hollow threat. I make you far too much money for you to abandon me.”

She coughed imperiously. “I can find other ways to punish you, John. I’m sure there are plenty of other boys who would relish an opportunity to rough you up a little. You always were too smart for your own good.”

Keats smiled at her. “That, we agree on. My gift and my curse. I probably earned you close to a hundred dollars this past couple weeks.” Keats tilted his thumb at the woman’s purse.

Mrs. Walters smiled. “You did indeed, boy. And if you stay on your best behavior this weekend I may even give you 5 dollars on Monday.”

Keats looked out at the bustling New York streets as he weighed his options. 5 million people, all scratching and clawing and trying to make their own way in the world. The only warning sign, although it came too late for the woman who stood next to him, was the smirk that suddenly appeared on his face.

“Actually, Headmistress, I think I’ve decided to go into business for myself.”

Keats lunged forward, snatching the purse from out of her hands with such quickness that she was nearly knocked over. Her angry shouts faded quickly as he ducked down multiple alleys, losing any possible pursuit.

Taking a deep breath, Keats looks around the alley and tucks his earnings into his sock for safekeeping. As he sorts through the other assorted junk, he takes a deep breath, knowing he’s just started down a new- and irreversible- path.

Zo hears the shouts behind her and mentally curses. Some idiot has got himself caught and now is going to bring police all through these streets. It wouldn't be too much of a problem, but the thousands of dollars sitting neatly in her purse would probably look suspicious, especially with her track record. 

She looks behind herself to see a slight teenager sprinting right towards her before quickly veering off too the right. 

She sighs to herself. "It's lucky he looks cute" she mutters before chasing after him. She follows the twisting path he was taking with relative ease, not counting the moment her heel got caught in a plastic bag, and slows down when she sees him stop.

"What are you doing in this part of town?" She calls out, continuing to approach him.

I, uh... well, this poor woman got robbed! Someone grabbed her purse. And she just- took off running.  I, well, managed to get it back and I was running to trying to find her. But she's gone now. So now I'm looking for an ID, so I can return it to her!

Keats tries to smile nonchalantly, but his legs tense up, prepared to bolt if he has to.

A bottle grasped firmly in his hand, Christian rounded the corner in time to catch sight of the commotion. He watched this guy John through already blurring vision, whilst taking a swig from his bottle. He was probably around the same age as Gato, and clearly equally as tenacious. Lost in his world of thought, he was brought back to reality by Officer Christie barking from the station door. 

"This? Liquor? Where would I get... find any liquor, officer?

He slurred his words, before scampering off in the same direction as John Keats. 

Zo notices the boy tense up and chuckles to herself

You can give up the pretenses kid. Maybe next time you should be more discreet. You do have some good style though...  I may know some people that would want a pickpocketer, however I think you need just a bit more... experience. 

She finally reaches the boy, opening her purse and tucking a card into the boy's shirt

Give me a call if  you're interested

Keats grins at Zo.

Thanks for the tips. Practice makes perfect, I've heard.

He presses his hands against his chest over his shirt pocket.

I will keep your advice close to my heart.

Zo tries to hide her smile at the pun, mostly successful

Also you might want to find something to put that purse in. I'm perfectly fine breaking down some gender barriors but I'm not sure everyone will be. A lady's purse is on the suspicious side

A most astute observation, Miss... I'm not sure what to call you?

Perhaps this bag would best serve as a gift to you, then.

Keats bows and starts handing Zo the purse with a flourish.

Seems like yours is a bit full. Although perhaps carrying two purses would be suspicious as well? Particularly if they're looking for this one.  I'm sure I can find someone who needs it. Or a place to dispose of it.

She smirks

The name is Zo, and your's is...? 

Anyway getting rid of the purse is a good idea.

Keats nonchalantly tosses the purse into the dumpster behind him.

A good call, Zo. My friends call me Keats. A pleasure to meet you. So- where did all this wisdom of yours come from? 

Well then Keats, it's a pleasure to meet you too. As for my wisdom... Let's just say I have been in a similar position. I got lucky, people quickly gave me access to jobs and then to protection. It ain't easy being a girl on the streets.... 

Zo tries to hide a slight shudder 

Anyway, what's your story? What is a pretty boy like you doing in some abandoned alleyway?

Keats listens intently to the part about jobs and protection, then smiles at the "pretty boy" line.

Oh, my story isn't very interesting. At least not yet, although I hope to make it so. Just a lonely young man chasing his dreams. And running away from the past, I suppose, even if it seems like I'm "borne ceaselessly back to" it. Maybe this'll be the time I break away for good. Here's hoping, at least.

Well aren't you poetic.

Loud boots are heard coming closer

I think that's my cue. Final wisdom to you would be to get the hell outta dodge.

Zo slips into the darkness ((like a boss)) ((and totally doesn't trip in her heels)) just as the boots come closer and closer