Noah woke up to the horror of finding his money was gone. He retraced his steps throughout the motel. The staff had shrugged when asked and Noah's overnight roommate was bewildered he'd asked them. He called Noah an idiot to try and even question them. The staff was notorious for laziness, gossip, and theft.

Serves me right. Noah thought.

He'd been shoplifting from mainly family-owned businesses who couldn't afford cameras. There were times when he'd convinced himself he was doing it to survive but survival didn't include swiping chocolate bars or comic books. And now he knew what it felt like to have the only thing worth value vanish in thin air.

"White boy." Noah's roommate was snapping his fingers. "I said we will go dumpster diving. Old man Gold took a huge ass cut. Sharks are scared of him...fucking perk."

"Sharks?"

"Sharks," his roommate said. "Customers. They get greedy, and Gold puts them in their place. You sleep standing, man? I couldn't sleep because you kept crying out."

It dawned on Noah this had been the first time he'd gone to sleep with another person in the room. He'd done it next to a scattered crowd under a bridge. None of them had alerted him to odd behavior.

Noah blinked.

Makeup free and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans, Noah's roommate transformed from snoring diva to average teen. He had olive skin, a sharp chin, and metal braces on his teeth. He reeked from the shot of whiskey he had drowned when he woke up to Noah's frantic searching. He told Noah to quit mumbling so he could help, but they tried and failed. Since Noah had been too antsy to overstay his checkout time by a few minutes, he agreed to wait for his roommate outside of the motel.

The night had been kinder to the motel. In the morning, it had its name skewed on a grubby sign. It was called the Ambrosia, though any resemblance to the American fruit salad or ancient Greek myth was scant. Noah had had his hands stuffed in the pocket of his pants, head low, anticipating Gold's exit. Gold, however, was nowhere to be seen at ten in the morning.

"Come on. Let's teach you the ropes," his roommate said. "I'm Pink by the way."

By ropes, Noah hoped Pink meant food hunting. Pink was under the impression Noah was going to join the...night work. He hadn't meant to lead him on but didn't want to be alone this morning. And a free lesson in survival wasn't bad.

Noah nodded at something Pink said, and Pink rolled his eyes. Pink fished a cigarette from a dented packet of cigarettes. He didn't offer Noah a smoke, and Noah was grateful.

Noah tensed as he caught sight of the lighter materializing in Pink's hands. His throat was dry, and no song came to mind when he heard the flicker of the lighter. He counted the cracks on the pavement. People needed matches or a lighter to smoke.

Sixteen cracks.

"Motherfucker," Pink muttered. He flicked the lighter again.

Twenty-two cracks. Twenty...Twenty three.

"Ooh yeah," Pink said, taking a drag and blowing twin lines of smoke from his nostrils.

Noah stifled a sigh of relief. He straightened, his line of vision resuming to straight ahead instead of the asphalt. In the daylight, the shady neighborhood held a semblance of normality. There were fruit sellers, kids who were probably skipping school, and barbershops snipping at their customers' hair.

Noah glanced at Pink. Given last night's outfit, Noah was entertaining thoughts of what Pink did for a living. He wanted to ask what the job was like or if it was as frightening as Noah suspected it was.

"Got something to say, white boy?"

Noah swallowed the lump building in his throat. He was tired of being hungry and tired of his thoughts straying.

"I was wondering where we're going?"

"Breakfast is where," Pink said. "How long have you been out here?"

Noah shrugged. It had been weeks. It was less than two months or perhaps a little more? Noah had stopped counting. He didn't want to fully believe he had gotten away nor did he want to think he hadn't survived enough. He couldn't stop to think, channeling his energy to feel nothing. Be nothing, it was the smart thing to do. His emotions had always been the enemy that sent him crawling into hell.

No. He didn't need to count.

They turned into a narrow alleyway. The stench of rotting food was overpowering, the source of it the center of attention. The ally was a dead end. It was comprised of tall trash receptacles and peeling green dumpsters with white cartons overflowing one of them. The white cartons, however, moved. Grunts and the sounds of items getting crushed followed.

"Great," Pink said. "Fucker beat us to it."

A trash bag came flying out. Its owner, a stout man in a torn hoodie, jumped out. He fell flat on his butt, and Noah thought twice about helping him up.

"Any food in there?" Pink approached the man. "You wanna-"

The man yanked the collar of Pink's shirt. Pink struggled to get out of the man's grip, snarling and spitting at him.

Noah remained rooted on the spot. He needed to remain calm.

Nothing. Feel nothing.

"Money," the stout man said.

Noah glanced behind him. It wasn't his problem, he could run and leave Pink to deal with this. His stomach churned at the thought of having to fight. His punches would fall flat.

"We don't have any," Pink said.

"Bullshit," the man growled.

Noah took a deep breath.

"Easy now," Malik's voice flooded his head. "You're okay. Everything is okay."

"It's in his back pocket," Noah said. "It should be forty bucks."

The man glared at Pink. "Out with it."

Pink squirmed in the man's grasp but reached for his back pocket, taking out a thin wad of cash.

"It's all we got," Pink said.

The man looked Noah up and down.

"You're an honest kid. That all you got?"

Noah nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Sir?" the man said.

The man let go of Pink and roared with laughter. He slapped his grimy pants as he bubbled with a fresh wave of laughter. He'd obviously never had someone call him sir, much less a scrawny guy like Noah. Pink scrambled to his feet. They left the man laughing hysterically.

They jogged to the busier streets, taking random twists and turns. Then Pink slowed, out of breath, when Noah was not the least bit tired.

"You knew?" Pink said. "You knew I took it?"

It was Noah's second curse in a way; he noticed too much sometimes. During Noah's search in the room, he was able to read into Pink's worried glances, and when Pink did get up to pretend to help him look, the dollar bills hitched a fraction out of the back pocket of his jeans. One of the bills had had markings from a red pen. It couldn't be a coincidence to have the money go missing and for Pink to have the same bill with the red markings on it.

Pink was talking. Noah could see his mouth move through disgusted grimaces. He had to concentrate. They were out in the open. And the sidewalk wouldn't match the comfort of a mattress. Should he tell Pink he was about to lose consciousness?

"Answer me? You think this is funny?"

Noah shook his head, and his legs wobbled. He was starting to sweat despite the cool afternoon. This was not how he expected things to go.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Pink spat at Noah's sneakers. "Fucking retard."

Noah's vision blurred. Black spots danced before his eyes, and his legs gave out. His knees took most of the impact, and for a moment, Noah was glad he had nothing left to be stolen. He knew he was passing out in the middle of a lively street without Andy's worried barks to have him clinging to consciousness.

Several minutes passed before he came to. Pink was gone, yet Noah was sitting cross-legged in the spot where they'd argued. His wristwatch reassured him he'd blanked for only a few minutes. He reached for his forehead where a light throbbing started. The bump was beginning to loosen and, he couldn't feel the blood from the impact. His backpack was still attached to his shoulders. He eased it off and leaned against the brick wall. The world had gone bright, and he closed his eyes.

He was stewing in his brand of cowardice. When he found Pink had nicked off the cash, he couldn't confront him. Neither could he get close enough to steal it back. Part of him felt Pink could use the cash more than he did. Maybe he could take a day off and not have to be someone's plaything for a night. Gold can shove his protection up where the sun didn't shine.

Passersby didn't spare him a glance which allowed Noah to reach for the sweater. He let it drape over his legs aware that every time he used it, the smell would lessen until it would fade. He wished he could cry. His body hurt, but the hurt went deeper than physical. It was the disappointment that hurt the most. He was failing with rapid speed. He'd broken down letting panic wash over him, and today he'd fainted.

He was exhausted, tired of running, of trying to dispel the ache in his heart that came from the knowledge of how worthless he was. He was of no use to anyone. He was not missed, and if he chose to die on this sidewalk, there would be no one to mourn him. He could just die here. The thought was peaceful, comforting. Death would be kind, wouldn't judge or demand anything. Maybe he would be cremated, scattered somewhere near the sea.

Scattered in a place where you could swim in November, Noah thought. Wasn't this what he said?

Except he didn't want to die. He wanted to stay alive outside the walls of his room. He wanted to have a shot at being normal. Wasn't this the whole point of living on the streets? To have a life?

He needed food. And shelter. He'd beg for anything cooked.

And he needed someone to tell him everything was going to be okay.