Chapter 2

I never thought I had any special powers. Somebody did, though. They thought I was too lucky. That's a laugh! Me, lucky. If I was lucky, I wouldn't have lost my mom, dad, brother and sis in a car wreck. I was trapped in the mangled wreckage with their dead and dying bodies for three hours, you call that lucky? I sure don't. So what I didn't have a mark on my body, I had scars on my soul. Somehow, that fact, that I didn't even have a mark or bruise, caught the attention of someone who was looking for strange events like that. I over heard the social worker talking on the phone, saying that since I didn't have any family left, that the state could release me into the custody of a federal study, as long as they promised to take care of me. Like I would trust the government to take care of me. I seen how they take care of things, no thanks. I snuck out of there, still in my bloody clothes, and as I left, I seen a fricken' black swat type van pull up. Oh, they made nice, and only one nice dressed lady got out and went in to talk to the social worker, but I seen inside, and there were a tac team ready to go. I didn't stay to see what they did when they found out I was gone.

I stole some clothes from a 24 hour laundromat, right out of the wash machine, and put them on spun dry. They wasn't bloody, anyway, My family's blood. I walked all night to dry those clothes, and I been on the move since, been two years now. Don't talk to me about lucky. I been living in the streets, I never sleep in the same place twice in a row, never have a pattern. I don't know why a tac team wants me for a study, but you can bet it wouldn't be something I would like.

Rather just live on the street, I get by. I got friends, people look out for me. Some of my friends work in restaurants and stores, they feed me. Others just watch my back for me, tell me if anyone is asking questions. That happens more than a few times, I move on to someplace else, make new friends. I've moved on maybe two, three times now. Sure, sometimes I find a score, but that could happen to anyone, tell me you never found five or ten laying on the ground. Just, when I find it, it is a fifty or a C-note. People lose money, and someone has to find it. Tell me you never lost a 20. It happens, Don't mean I am lucky.

I'm Mike, by the way. Just because I am 12 don't mean I am stupid. I been around the block, and I know what is what. I don't get taken by the cons, the hawks, the pushers or the cops. I can tell if someone is on the up and up. The only time I ever fell for a chicken hawk, was early on. It turned out he was a kindly uncle type, an old fairy godfather who couldn't get it up anymore anyway from diabetes. I reminded him of himself when he was on the street, kicked out of home 'cause his daddy caught him sucking a buddys dick. He offered to suck mine, but I wouldn't let him. He fed me, let me use his shower, gave me some clean clothes he had there, (I wasn't the first boy he had picked out of the gutter and dusted off.) gave me a little cash, and sent me back out into the big bad world. He probably thought I would end up sucking cock to get by like he had done when he was a boy, (after all, what else can a kid do to get money to live?) but I never needed to do that. I don't steal, or push. I don't squeal, or scam. I got friends. I get by. I still stop by and talk with him sometimes, and he feeds me, gives me some clothes or a little money. It makes him feel good to help me. I know, because he told me that it did. I feel good when I help other people too.

How do I get so many friends? It isn't all one way. I help people out, and they remember me, and help me out back. One lady, I tripped the punk who had just snatched her purse, and it went flying. I got to it first, and just then a cop drove by, and he faded. I took it back to her, and told her I was Mike, and I lived on the street. She told me her name, and where she worked, and I had another friend.

Another time, I saved a dog that had been backed into a dead end by some younger kids. They was throwing bottles and bricks at it, some of the braver ones trying to poke it with sticks. I chased them off, took that dog to the park and cleaned him up as best I could in the fake stream that ran from the fountain overflow, dried him off with my hoodie, and took him to the address on his collar. He belonged to the cook at a fancy hotel restaurant, who was very glad to see his little Stanley again. I eat dinner in the employee break room about twice a month, and visit Stanley some weekends, take him for walks and such. Usualy get lunch from those visits. I got a lot of friends like that. They look after me.

One time an electronic wireless device just landed in my lap! I yelled "Ow!" and hammed it up, (I ain't so dumb I don't take a little advantage when it falls into my lap) and of course the guy who had flung it so disgustedly was all apologetic, and he said he was through with it and I could have it. Turns out he had the instruction book and everything, but it wasn't helping him. He bought it for a phone, but it was too complex for him, too many tiny buttons that he didn't need. He had lost his receipt, and had me show him how to cancel his phone provider. I never used the phone part, I just warchalked the wireless. You would be surprised at how many of the street folk are hacking onto the wireless internet connections that are everywhere, and that we are exchanging the passwords we figure out or find or scope. I know one place that has a dozen connections and their passwords chalked onto a wall, and some have four updated passwords. The old one marked out, and the new one chalked in. Usualy the chalkings are close to where you can get the signal. Just because we live in the street don't mean we ain't on the information superhighway! A message board works about as well as e-mail or a phone message service, is free, and has less spam. I couldn't do any high graphic content, but there was plenty of internet for a text sort of guy like me.