An Aqua Thread (South/Dolphin)

I’m a bitch, I’m a loser, baby, maybe I should quit
I’m a jerk, wish I had the money but I can’t find work
I’m a brat, I’m a selfish punk, I really should be smacked
My parents tried until they got divorced
Because I ruined their lives

I been beyond the normal sort of tired lately. There's the tired where you can still function like a normal human being, just a little foggier'n normal, and then there's me, and I'm probably startin' to look like some zombie from the comic books we bring home for Wheels every once in a while. It's been this way for more than a week, up at the crack of dawn to hit the streets with Skid, fleecing folks for everything they got on 'em until sundown, and then I'm lucky to catch a half hour cat nap before I'm crawling out my bedroom window to hit the streets again, my activity something a little worse than pick pocketing. Most nights I been climbing back up the fire escape just as the sky starts to go that murky gray of almost-morning, just enough time to crawl under my covers before Skid's pounding on the door and telling me to get up. And then it all starts over again.

It's not my right to complain, though. Times've gotten lean again and everyone's starting to feel it, the way our bones feel hollow and our bellies start to gnaw on our backbones just to keep themselves alive. It's all Skid and I can do to keep food on the table on a good day, and after a run of bad days that's gotten longer than I can rightly remember I know I ain't got any other choice but to pick up... Double shifts. It's easier to think about what I do when I put it that way. And maybe that's denial, but I ain't got to worry about what helps me sleep at night when I've not been sleeping any more than a few winks at a time anyway.

Skid mostly leaves me to my own devices when we're out combing the street for exposed wallets and loose pocket watches; he'd probably still try to tell me how to do every little thing if he didn't know I'd get right back up in his face and tell him that I ain't a little kid anymore. I been in this business, however shady it is, since I was eye-level with the pockets I was pickin', and nobody's gonna tell me how to do a job I know I'm damn good at. So he goes skulking down some side alley pretty soon after we leave our saggy old apartment building, probably looking for some poor suckers to hustle at a card game instead of sticking to our thieving roots. I guess that's all right, though. Skid's real smart and it'd be a cryin' shame if those smarts didn't get some exercise once in a while. Me? I'm dumber'n a stump, and snatchin' wallets is enough of a mental challenge.

I catch a wavy flash of my own reflection in a shop window as I pass, the polished glass showing a stick-skinny, tree-tall overgrown street urchin of a girl, all protruding bones and threadbare clothes to cover up any pretty she might have stood a chance at having. I can clean up real nice, I know I can, but there ain't a cause for it during the day when nobody's payin' me to look pretty. Still, a little bit of my effort to look nice from last night is still evident, the curls in my hair only just starting to turn lank and messy, the careful eyeliner around pale-gray eyes only a little smudged. I still look like somethin' nearly dead with my knobby wrist bones and bruised shadows from no sleep underneath my eyes, but I'd wager I'm better lookin' than half the rest of the trash you'd find in the gutter. Up ahead at one of the shops I see a boy walking out the door, a brilliant flash in his hand as he tucks a spindle of thread into his bag. Bright-dyed stuff like that's pretty pricey, even in Eight, where we make the stuff. For the price of id I could probably feed one or two of the little ones. Turning away from my almost-reflection, I grin. Thing about stealin' from boys, they're easy to distract. Some flutterin' eyelashes and a pretty face and you can steal the shirt off their back and sell it back to 'em for twice the price before they realize they been robbed.

"Hey there," I grin, all coy and winning in the way I've learned makes people pay attention to you, tossing my hair in a calculated move and jogging the few steps over to him. "You mind helpin' me out? My brother went off somewhere and left me, and I got no idea how to get to work from here. You mind tellin' me which direction the tie-dyin' factory is?"

Sometimes I feel like it ain't fair, takin' things from people who paid for it honest, but sometimes it's a little too easy.

I’m a bad kid and I will survive
Oh I’m a bad kid, don’t know wrong from right
I’m a bad kid and this is my life
One of the bad kids, don’t know wrong from right
This is my life