Escaping Boredom

One

 "No kid in New York should starve just cause their parents left 'em," he said pointing to Franky with one hand while with the other bring the roll to his mouth. Taking a large bite, he moaned in pleasure.  

 "Least you got one," Franky said morbidly as he adjusted the bag across his chest for easy access to newspapers. He quickly walked back to his spot on the block, leaving Sid alone to fill his stomach.  Within a few minutes, Franky had told another two newspapers with his honest titles. 

For the next several hours, the two boys stood on opposite sides of the block, each hawking their own headlines. Across the block, there was only silence from them as they did not feel like speaking; they were too concentrated on earning nickels. In addition, the touchy subject of parents had been brought up but it was dropped as quickly as it came. They knew somewhere in time they both had their own parents who possibly loved them and cared for them. But the happiness of what used to be was stored in the back of their minds and saved for sad times. 

 As the sun dipped below the jagged horizon and when blackness filled the air, the two boys sat on the steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Small specks of rain in the morning had transformed into blistering storms that pelted the city, drenched them to their flesh and called each newsie to make shift shelters provided by the deep crevasses of buildings. Luckily for Franky and Sid, all their newspapers had been sold off through various methods of guilt before their city was attacked. As they ate stolen apples from an open market nearby, they talked about who had told the newspapers the fastest, who had made the most money and lastly,  how horrible it was to sell under rain.  

 Although it was only late summer time, the rain carried wind along in it's path and dropped the temperature to deep autumn months. The both of them donned warned out winter coats that were made for larger, fuller men. The coats hung off their diminishing shoulders and dipped below their lanky knees. Several years ago, they stumbled upon the coats while thrifting through the dumpsters beyond the homes in the Upper East Side; they took them with happiness. Sid had fashioned a leather strap around his waist to close the coat to his body. Franky, with a thick rope, kept his coat from flapping in the wind and rain.  Overall, the coats gave off the appearance of two Russian men to the boys and emphasized their undernourished frames. 

 "You seen Nate?" Franky said, leaning his forearms to his knees as he took the finishing bite off his apple.  Upon realizing he had finished his simplistic dinner, he chucked the lightly browning core to the river of rain in the depths of the streets. He watched it bobble, dip, and plunge against the harsh tides before it sunk into a drain at the end of the block. 

 "Nah," Sid replied taking a bite of his apple and chewing while speaking. "Heard from Bobby?" He took another large, harsh bite then whipped the edge of his mouth with the back of his dirt-covered hand. His rogue felt around his mouth and discovered a small piece of apple lodged in-between his teeth. Sid brought his pinkie to his teeth, he picked out the food. 

 "Not for a week or so. I wonder where them is," Franky said staring up at the deep clouds that covered the top flights of the buildings. 

"I heard," Sid took another bite. "Nate's ventured up to Brooklyn; guess there're less newsies."

 "Gotta sell where you gotta sell," Franky said despairingly.  "And Pat?"

 "Saw him a few days ago. Selling by the harbour."

 During the summer months, newspaper boys tended to fan out across all five boroughs; some even dared to venture upstate into the towns of Connecticut, New Jersey and New York. The boys were not tethered to a venue to pick the papers up and nor were they obligated to sell in corresponding spots day after day in a redundant cycle. There was no need to house in large groups for summer nights were delicate outside. With three parents known in total, freedom was grounded into their bones, tongue and mind; they ruled their world with a fist of leeway. 

But some, like Sid and Franky, stayed where they knew no matter the month or weather. Their feet treaded and skipped over comfortable stones that gave off a smooth walk; their hands ran along familiar bricks that towered into the sky; their mouths watered over proverbial food that was constantly out of their budget. They walked the streets of New York together, soliciting for every penny they could earn. 

 After several hours, their eyes dropped to a close, their knees curled close to their chests and their coats were cuddled over their shaking bodies. The heavy rain had lifted to a soft patter agains the washed out streets. 

 "Hey, Franky?" Sid called out. 

 "Yeah," Franky responded turning over to his stomach to face Sid. 

 "Are you ever bored?"

 "I is bored now. Can't sleep," he scoffed. 

 "No," Sid said alarmingly sharp. "I mean…are you ever bored with life?"

 Franky thought for a moment. "Not really, this is all I knows; no parents were ever there for me; been selling since I could walk." 

 For several minutes, the two boys lay in silence, each pondering their lives. "I is," Sid said breaking the serenity.

 In fact, not only was Sid acutely bored with his conventional life but he yearned for much more than what he was given. He longed for adventure half way across the globe with a slingshot in hand and a friend by his side. He desired for someone to lay beside him at night and wake up under his arm in the morning. He ached for money to roll out of his pockets and to ever have to sell another newspaper again. 

 "Night Sid," Franky said pulling his coat tighter to his body.