One Day More

[Kid Blink]

Blink tapped his feet on the cobbled walk, waiting for the wrought-iron gates to swing open. Around him, younger newsies chattered, snoozed, and shoved each other playfully. Blink was painfully aware of the empty cramp of hunger that seemed to wrap itself around his midsection like an unpleasant...something. He was too tired to come up with an accurate comparison or at least, one that made sense.

Blink sighed and walked over to lean against a nearby light pole. He shoved one hand into his trouser pocket, feeling for the few coins tucked there, and brought the other hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He sighed and shook his head. A few strands of hair fell into his face. Annoyed, Blink dropped his hand and shook his head. "That didn't work...." he thought with a scowl. He glared at the offending strands of hair and pursed his lips, blowing a puff of air upwards in a miserable attempt to clear the hair from his face. "Ah stupid hair," he mumbled, "S'getting too long. I've gotta get someone t'cut it." With a bored sigh, he lazily reached up and brushed his hair out of his face.

At the sound of creaking metal, he straighted up....or rather, he attempted to do so. He had been leaning against the light pole, and, without realizing it, crossed his ankles, resting his weight on the light pole. Not knowing this, Blink had made to stand up and start walking but when one's ankles are crossed....things don't always turn out as planned. As it happened, Blink gave a surprised yelp as he spun awkwardly to the left and fell face-forward on the cobblestone, just managing to brace his fall with his hands. He winced as pain shot up through his wrists. "Sure, I save m'face but I kill m'wrists." Blink thought irritatedly. He rolled onto his side and shifted into a sitting position on the curb. Blink unclenched his fists, wincing slightly as the muscles in his forearms spasmed. Gingerly, he stretched his fingers out, first surveying the damage to his knuckles. It wasn't pretty, but, then again, "s'not like they were "pretty" t'begin with. I'm always gettin' them scratched up and busted in fights and whatnot." He murmured.

Sighing, Kid Blink struggled to his feet and made his way through the gates of the distribution center. "Huh," he said slowly, "y'know, I never noticed it b'fore, but them gates are like somethin' welcomin' ya to hell.... y'know, big black gates....fat old man named weasel...." he said aloud to no one in particular. Striding up to join the end of the line, he looked around to see if he recognized anyone. He had come back today because he missed selling. He could only wish that Mush or Jack or Race or any of his other friends were there, with him too. Most people, the older kids that was, had taken off from selling since the whole Mike conflict started. But Blink wasn't here to think about Mike. He was here to insult Weasel, meet a new face maybe, or sell with an old one. Or new one. Covering a yawn, Blink stretched his arms out, then froze when he felt the back of his arm connect with someone's head, or face. He dropped his arms, and made to turn around to see who he had knocked in the head.

[Bumlets]

"y'know, I never noticed it b'fore, but them gates are like somethin' welcomin' ya to hell.... y'know, big black gates....fat old man named weasel...."

Bumlets shoved his broom stick under the rim of his hat and lifted it up as he heard Kid's comment. A small smirk worked across the other newsies lips before he laughed, "It's like Dante's Inferno, I've been trying to figure out for the life a me which level of hell we're in. I bet you anything that hell is just like this-- not all that fire and brimstone but just like our world because hell is what you make it.." And Weasel could really double as one of those devils, then again Bumlets had been thinking that his world was hell for years.

"You're antsy, Kid..."

[Kid Blink]

Another newsie bought a stack of papes, the line inched forward, and Kid Blink moved up a few steps. Even though the line was proceeding quicker than usual (due, of course, to the reduced number of morning sellers), Blink was restless; he tugged on the hem of his faded shirt, fingered the buttons on the fraying cuffs, and shifted positions every few minutes. Blink was surprised at the how few newsies were selling the morning edition. Just by looking at the size of the gathered crowd of newsies, Blink estimated that there were about fifteen boys gathered in the distribution center. Even though five had already set out, bringing the total up to twenty selling boys, it was still a rather small lot. Blink sighed and shook his head as if to clear his mind. He looked up once more and glanced over his shoulder to see whether any of his friends had chosen to sell after all. He saw faces he recognized but they belonged to Manhattan newsies with whom he was not acquainted. Sighing dramatically, Blink faced forward then did a quick double take.

A familiar crop of black hair had caught his eye, prompting Blink to grin widely. "Maybe I won't be selling alone t'day afta'all!" he thought in relief. "Hey Bumlets! I didn't see ya there b'fore." It suddenly dawned on Blink that he didn't have a selling partner since Mush, his usual, was absent, presumably having decided to sell afternoon or evening edition (or not at all). "Are you interested in being sellin' partners for a while? You're 'bout the only one here I actually know and we haven't sold together in ages."

"It's like Dante's Inferno,"

"Donday's Inferno?" Blink wondered. Sure, the title sounded familiar but he didn't really know what that was. It sounded like hell though. "What's that?"

"I've been trying to figure out for the life a me which level of hell we're in."

Kid Blink was not well versed in the workings of hell and heaven. He had been spared, of his own accord, of "overexposure" (as he would have it) to religious preaching when he was in the boy's home when he would occasionally sneak out of Sunday worship during the preacher's long and boring sermon to play craps with a couple of his friends in a empty broom cupboard across the hall from the small chapel. Sure, Blink was a good boy as far as good goes, but there was only so much yelling and shouting brimstone and fire that a boy of nine could take. "It depends on how many levels there are, 'cause there's the hell that's tryin' t'sell the evenin' or afternoon edition, then there's the hell that's Midtown, then there's hell that's the Refuge... So' dependin' on how many there are, I'd say the distribution center is the gateway; the first level."

"I bet you anything that hell is just like this-- not all that fire and brimstone but just like our world because hell is what you make it."

"Yeah, I guess...." Blink said thoughtfully. "But then again," he added and flashed Bumlets a knowing grin, "It's like we always say: we goes where we wishes, 'cause we's as free as fishes, 'cause it sure beats washing dishes..." he trailed off, waiting to see if Bumlets wanted to add his two-bits.

"You're antsy, Kid..."

Blink rolled his eyes amiably. "I jus' don't like standin' still. And I'm ready for an adventure, for some fun. You'd think we'd forgotten how to have fun with how serious we've been lately."

{Author's note: Sorry for the delay.... And btw, yes, I do know what Dante's Inferno is, but I thought it might be fun for Blink to be a bit clueless here. So the misspelling (i.e "Donday's....") was intentional. }

[Bumlets]

"Donday's Inferno?" Blink wondered. Sure, the title sounded familiar but he didn't really know what that was. It sounded like hell though. "What's that?"

"Divine Comedy, it's an italian poem written sometime in the fourteenth century, It's about a guy named Dante and his travel though hell... " Bumlets replied with ease, out of all the Manhattan newsies his nickname should have been Brain instead of Bumlets. But he liked his nickname all the same. It suited him in other ways.

"It depends on how many levels there are, 'cause there's the hell that's tryin' t'sell the evenin' or afternoon edition, then there's the hell that's Midtown, then there's hell that's the Refuge... So' dependin' on how many there are, I'd say the distribution center is the gateway; the first level."

"There are nine levels Blink...aaand I'm thinking your right.." this was limbo for sure-- or purgatory no wait wasn't that level nine? He couldn't remember the whole poem but sometimes New York was just like that all on it's own just like Blink said. You had your levels of special hell and vices all around.

"It's like we always say: we goes where we wishes, 'cause we's as free as fishes, 'cause it sure beats washing dishes..." he trailed off, waiting to see if Bumlets wanted to add his two-bits.

Bumlets tipped his cap with his stick, "What a fine life, carrying da banner through it all.." he smirked and couldn't help it. Blink had an amazing way of raising his spirits.

"I jus' don't like standin' still. And I'm ready for an adventure, for some fun. You'd think we'd forgotten how to have fun with how serious we've been lately."

"Yeah I been thinking about that myself lately.." and coming form the somber one of the boys it was saying a lot.

[Kid Blink]

Several more newsies had bought their share of papes since Bumlets and Kid Blink had began chatting. There was a four to five person gap between Blink and the back of the next Manhattan newsie ahead of him in line. Blink glanced up and grinned sheepishly at the realization that he and Bumlets had been holding up those behind them. He turned to Bumlets and opened his mouth to speak, yet before he uttered a syllable, a newsie to the left of Bumlets spoke, "Hey, are ya' gonna stand and yack all day or are ya gonna move forward while the headlines are fresh? We've ain't got all day here!"

Blink's sheepish grin morphed into an annoyed frown. "Hey smartmouth," he snapped, drawing himself up from his slouched posture to his full height...which was considerably taller than the smart-mouthed shrimp who had mouthed off, "Why don't ya' just shut your trap!" Blink stopped there, not in the mind or mood to get into a fistfight, especially in which his opponent had nothing going for him except his sharp tongue. Blink glared at the kid, estimating that he was around ten or so years old, give or take a year. He glared at him for good measure and then turned back to Bumlets, jerking his head to indicate that the two of them ought to move forward.

"Divine Comedy, it's an Italian poem written sometime in the fourteenth century. It's about a guy named Dante and his travel though hell... ."

Divine Comedy... Blink mused, affixing his friend with an interested gaze. "How come you don't talk more?" He blurted. Blink winced, "I mean, "How come, well, that was interesting. What you said, I mean." He wasn't sure what to ask, but wanted to get to know his fellow newsie. He settled with asking, "Where'd you learn this stuff?"

{ *added section: response * "There are nine levels Blink...aaand I'm thinking your right.."

Blink considered Bumlets' words carefully, his features smoothing out into solemn expression. He pulled his cap off his head absentmindedly and ran a hand through his blond hair before responding; "Whoever wrote that poem musta' been of his trolley," he declared, his solemn expression now replaced by a wry grin. "Hey, d'you remember how y'got tagged with your nickname, 'Bumlets'?" Blink paused, "I'm thinkin' we should've called you Brains instead."

"What a fine life, carrying da banner through it all.." he smirked and couldn't help it.

Blink smiled, pleased that he and Bumlets were getting along. He was enjoying the time spent talking with his fellow newsboy, and was looking forward to getting his papes and selling with Bumlets, as well. It was nice that they were able to have a lighthearted, enjoyable conversation--something that had been a rarity among Manhattan newsies since the conflict with the Midtown boys had escalated. * end of added section * }

An interesting thought had come to Blink, and he was debating whether to bring it up with Bumlets. "You're not Italian, like Race, are ya'?" He was unsure whether it was a good question to ask. All he knew was that Race talked a lot, and spoke Italian, and beyond that...well, Race was his own person.

"Yeah I been thinking about that myself lately."

Blink nodded eagerly. "Finally someone agrees with me. I said that to good ol'Racetrack and he jus' glared at me and muttered something in Italian. I miss playin' pranks on Specs, for instance. And Chance, wherever he is...." Blink trailed off, then added, "We ought to go somewhere after we finish sellin' t'day," he suggested. "D'ya got any ideas?" he asked.

[Bumlets]

"How come you don't talk more?" He blurted. Blink winced, "I mean, "How come, well, that was interesting. What you said, I mean." He wasn't sure what to ask, but wanted to get to know his fellow newsie. He settled with asking, "Where'd you learn this stuff?"

Bumlets had to smile at his friend before he shrugged and chuckled a little, "Believe the man who seeks truth, and doubt the man that finds it. I read a lot.." Fact was his newsie nickname should have been Brain, not Bumlets, but he didn't care. The nickname was what it was, and he didn't care over much about that sort of thing. "I went to school before my pops died, I just never stopped learning new things."

"You'renot Italian, like Race, are ya'?"

That caused Brian pause for a moment, "My Pops was, my mom's Spanish though.." he tugged at his hair and smirked a little before he shrugged. "Why, what did Race do?"

"We ought to go somewhere after we finish sellin' t'day," he suggested. "D'ya got any ideas?" he asked.

Ah now that was the million dollar question, Bumlets didn't spend as much time with the lady chasing lads of his lodging house for a few reason. The main being he was terrified of girls, but he let out a sigh and thought about it. "Why don't we go to Medda's?" That was about the only place that featured ladies he liked to go. He actually like Medda truth be told.