In the heart of Downtown LA, the city busies itself in the Californian sun. The air was dry, however a breeze would often disturb the humidity, carrying the scent and moisture from the ocean spray. The temperature was predictably high, and tempted an adjournment from the attire considered 'normal', seen about the streets.  Jackets slung over shoulder, miniskirts provocatively challenging the standards and expectations set by the rest of the country. 

Anthony stood in the shade of a tattoo parlor canopy, simply watching the human traffic. He stood tall, for his age, and showed early signs of being broad. His hair was cropped back at the sides, though remained floppy on top. A style rarely adopted in these times. His face was weathered, bruising to his cheek bones and dark circles around his eyes. The sleeves of his over-shirt fell loosely around his wrists, which was out of place among the T-shirts and buttoned-up sleeves, when considering the temperature. His pants were pressed and tidy, as tidy one would expect for a boy working the streets, and his shoes gleamed in the midday sun. At his feet was a shoe shine box, and behind that, an untidy satchel.

He looked back and forth up the street, not saying a word.

Within the crowd, a well dressed man approached Anthony's post. His suit was extravagant and bold, a vest jacket and dinner coat a striking ensemble. He had waxed whiskers and spectacles hung from a chain. A hat unlike anything seen among the other pedestrians. 

Anthony looked away and down at his hand. In his palm, a pot of blackening polish, primed and ready. He began tossing it a short height, it would fall briskly into his grip again. A second time, a third. As the mark approached, he missed the fourth catch. The tin fell through his fingers, the keen eyed would suspect sleight of hand, and struck the floor at the mans feet. The polish erupted from the tin, splashing out onto the evidently expensive shoes. Verbal profanities followed, and the man took Anthony by the scruff of his neck. The boy was too heavy now to be lifted in this manner, but he was shaken something furiously.

The man demanded it was cleaned immediately, cursing him as a street urchin and threatening to beat the very soul from him.

Anthony silently obliged, cleaning the shoes to a brilliant standard, at no charge. 

The well dressed man stormed off into the crowd, not without cursing the boy again, and Anthony watched him leave. He gathered his box, satchel and polish, then vanished into the crowd.

At around 20 paces, the well dressed man would realize that this shoe shine had cost him the majority of his loose, and secure for that matter, valuables.

However the shoe shine was long gone.