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Message-ID: <35559asstr$1015452606@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: nickurfe@yahoo.com (Nicholas Urfe)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 6 Mar 2002 14:49:58 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} The Sidewalks of Old New York [urfe] [new] [300 words]
Date: Wed,  6 Mar 2002 17:10:06 -0500
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.
                                                  ::

                                             The Sidewalks of
                                                 Old New York

                                                  ::

"You know what this is about, don't you?" she'd said, drawing Foster
aside.

"What?" he'd said.

"He's soliciting," she'd said. "You."

"Surely not," he'd said. "A boy?"

Now she stood in the doorway and watched, unseen.

The boy wore brown: brown cap, brown jacket, brown trousers, the
broken buckle of one cuff clattering by his knee. Brown socks and
brown shoes; a smear of tar on one sole. His elbows threadbare: she
could see his shirt beneath, there on Foster's thigh.

"His eyes are astonishing," Foster'd said. Too loudly. The boy on the
landing above them couldn't have missed it.

"Belladonna," she'd said, remembering the sting of the drops, the way
the world would be too bright, washed out, men's smiles bleeding light
into their light-smeared faces.

"Really," he'd said. "Extraordinary."

Foster had laid his straw hat to one side, but still wore the mildly
ridiculous seersucker jacket he favored. His eyes closed as one hand
reached up to grip the upright back of the chair. His other hand
floated behind the boy's head. Foster hissed; the boy shifted;
Foster's undone belt buckle clanked.

"He needs some food," Foster had said, as the boy prowled Foster's
room. Picked up a pillow from the bed, and put it back. "Moll? Could
you - "

"I could see Bruno about a plate, perhaps," she'd said. And, halfway
down the stairs, had thought to come back to ask whether coffee, or
tea -

She touched her lips as Foster groaned, and came.

The boy stood, wiping his mouth, and Foster handed him a banknote he'd
been holding screwd up in one hand. The boy grinned at Moll on his way
out the door.

Foster stood by the window, buckling his belt. He did not turn around.
He sighed. "I had to know," he said.

                                                  ::
                                                  
                                             The Sidewalks of
                                                 Old New York
                                                 
                                                          --n.
                                                  ::
                                                  
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/nickurfe/www/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.

.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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