{deadbolt your door} South

[Joy to rubidoux in the middle of the night
bourbon and a pistol in the dash, out of sight]

I've been asked why I care so much. I mean, I'm old enough to leave, to get of this hellhole we call a house, and I know it - so why don't I? These people aren't blood, aren't real kin; why should I feel such an attachment to them? Why should I spend all my time robbin' and stealin' and lookin' after them when I could be doing better things? I could get a job, maybe, a real one. I could save up to buy myself a decent apartment. Find a girl for myself, maybe. But even as I think it I know it's far from possible - I couldn't leave Batty and the kids. They're my family even if all of us come from different parents. And I ain't got no other girls in my life but Hornet, Kit, and little Birdie.

So I keep on stealin'. I keep on pushing on in this awful world, bustin' my ass so that these kids have something to eat every day, cause it makes my heart sink to see them go to bed hungry. I care so much because caring is who I am, really, and I know I'll never stop. Not till the day I die. And I hope that isn't soon - what would they do if I did? Starve. Be nothin' but skin and bones. Get evicted, probably. No more Skid, no more home. I couldn't let that happen. So that's why I care, alright?

Hornet and I had decided that morning that we would go out for a little stroll around the district and we wouldn't come back till we'd gotten ahold of enough money to pay for new shoes for Birdie and Sparky, who were both growin' out of their old ones so fast we could hardly keep up with 'em. Sparky's were the worst; cause he spent so much time roughhousin' around outside his toes were clean near pokin' through the front of the sneakers and he needed a pair that was going to last him a while. Wheels was already usin' my old ones cause he'd ruined his with some chemical somethin' or other that he'd spilled on them while doing science projects, so I couldt give him mine. But shoes could be expensive; that was why we so rarely got new ones. My sister and I had a lot of work to do today, that was for sure.

"Spot anything good yet?" I mumbled to Hornet as we roamed the dirty, filth ridden street, (about as far away from the justice building as we could get, for obvious reasons) my hands buried sep into the pockets of my long trench coat that I used to keep out the cold on particularly blustery days like this one. It was so windy I half expected to see some bills just rollin' by with the breeze, snatched from the pockets of passerby by nature rather than the sneaky fingers of thieves. Believe me, I woulda welcomed that right away; when I picked things up off the street it was much easier to pretend it ain't stealin, it's finders keepers. Cause you see, even though I'm a natural thief I still got these annoying things called morals. It'd definitely be a lot easier if I could get rid of 'em, but hey, sometimes they're useful. Only thing that really keeps my head on my shoulders, especially since Hornet's morals are clearly a lot less talkative than mine.

My shoulders dropped in dissatisfaction as I surveyed the area, spottin' nothing of interest. "Does everybody keep their wallets in their front pockets lately?" I complained irritably, getting excited when I spotted something stickin' out of an old lady's purse but then realizing it was nothin' more than some kind of envelope. Stupid. "Don't they know the resident juvenile delinquents are dependin' on them?" My comment was complete with an eyeroll of disapproval and I kept my tone light, though I was startin' to get seriously worried. What if we couldn't find anything? Sparky would surely burst out of his shoes by tomorrow morning the latest. Plus we were running low on food; the fridge would soon be sparse. The kids would soon go hungry. And that was what I spent the majority of my life trying to prevent.