On a dime

THE BEGINNING

Each step I took drove me closer to my goal. My feet were like lightning, firing on all cylinders. I came to the alley where my ascent would begin. I bounced swiftly off of one wall, grabbing the ledge of the second. Throwing my leg over the side, I swiftly got myself up. Immediately sprinting towards the slot which took me to the underground racing start where I earned my cash. I needed to hurry up. I was ten seconds behind schedule, and here, every second counts. A gunshot hit the floor like a train to my chest. The four of us immediately sprinted towards the goal halfway across the city, or so I thought. I wasn't ever going to make it to that line. The spire, as they called it, was the exact middle of the city. The building around it were varying heights, each with about 20 feet of alley space in between. Those alleys were where my kind thrived. We're the runners. We never stop running. I leaped the 5 foot gap in between the apartment building that we lived in and the place where we hung out. It was easy access all the time. Just the way we needed it. I slid to a halt at the rooftop diner where my first delivery was supposed to take place. I handed the guy at the counter a package around the size of a pill bottle. He slipped me a couple hundred. "Same time next week!" I screamed as I slipped out the door and down the slanted roof that topped the office building that stood 26 stories tall. I leaped as the edge my feet hit was sliding from underneath them. I grabbed the edge of the next building over. My fingers slipped. I started to tumble the 240 feet towards the floor. And then she hit me like a truck. Literally. The collision of our bodies nearly mangled my arms into 4 pieces instead of the usual two. We broke through the window of the abandoned apartment building that I was supposed to be on top of. "dang. 15 seconds gone and 6 stories down. Thanks, kid." Said possibly the most attractive human to ever affect my eyes. With hair like silver, and eyes like hot cocoa, this girl couldn't have been older than 21. She helped me up and slipped what looked like an old fortune. On it was an address. 224A, Aptitude Apartments. I slid down the side of the building, accepting my defeat. I pulled the rose from my backwards hat, and slid it into my bag. The rest of my packages weren't timed deliveries anyway. I had time to waste. It was time to hit the streets.