.
                                                  ::

                                             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.org/~nickurfe/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

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

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