It was a beautiful day.

People of all different kinds dashing down the busy street in hurries, cars thundering down the brightly painted roads, the sun up above blazing with certainty, and my very victim standing alone on the corner ahead.

Couldn't have been better.

With stealth one can only require with practice and patience, I zipped through the heavy people traffic of the New York streets to where a man in exceptionally nice clothes rocked back and forth on his heels and spoke into the phone pressed to his large ear.

"Don't waste any time, now," he said in a friendly tone, a pleased businessman-like smile spreading across his face.

I took his advice, and slipped the wallet from his back pocket into my own hands.

Sliding the brown leather containing what would now be my money into my pocket, I casually blended in with everyone else as I made my way to a grocery store which I'll never remember the name of long enough to actually tell someone.

I stepped inside and was greeted by the oh so wonderful freezing air conditioning. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself and thrashed forward.

After wandering around the store aimlessly for my spare thirty minutes, I grabbed a handful of peanuts, shoved that into my other, empty pocket, and exited the building.

My third stop was the final one. At least for a few hours. "Frankie's Fast Food", the sign out front read, the lights buzzing and the R missions so it really read "Fankies Fast Food", but I wasn't there for food. Nor, despite what you may believe now, stealing. I was there to make a good, honest living.

"Kyra!" A voice that could belong to none other than Mackenna Lee rung through my ears. I say that because Mackenna is the only soul I personally know to speak with a British accent instead of American. She moved to America three years ago, yet her accent was still staying strong. Then the queen herself appeared in front of me.

I smiled at her. "Hi there."

"You're not late this time," she notes with a smile and a wink as she wraps an apron around her petite waist.

I grab an apron identical to her's and mimic her actions, although my waistline was something far from petite. "Ah, I decided one good day couldn't hurt my reputation." I shot the wink that time which resulted in laughs from both of us.

"Kyra can you toss me my jacket?"

I threw her light, white jacket her way- and added mine as well- to be hung up but the racks she stood under. She rolled her eyes but hung it anyway.

I turned to the business of signing in, but stopped cold when her voice sounded again, cold and serious."Um Kyra..?"

I turned in her direction to see her holding my new wallet in her hand, wide open, and her face paled.

"Where did you get this?" A wire of serious tension formed in the small room we were in.

I offered a toothy smile. "Walmart?"

"Oh. So Walmart's selling fake I.Ds now?" She put a hand on her hip, a deep frown on her face.

She held up some form of I.D from the wallet's past owner. All I could make out was the name "Greg" and a picture of the middle aged man with a nicely trimmed mustache whom I'd preyed on an hour ago.

I shrugged. "Look Max, it's all a simple misunderstanding. One that can wait until we're done working, yeah?"

Mackenna, who quite frankly hated the nickname "Max" (or macks) from the very moment I have it to her after our first day working together in the very same restaurant almost two years ago, stared at me hard and long before nodding silently.

I thought distracting ourselves with work would be a reasonable escape from any best friend's confrontations, but that proved to be untrue as it mainly consisted of something close to glares from Mackenna whenever we locked eyes, which was quite often as her main goal seemed to make eye contact with me every second possible.

By the time both our shifts ended, I was ready for a proper confrontation.

"Kyra, not so fast!" Mackenna yelled after me as I grabbed my stuff and almost made it halfway out the back door.

Cringing, I slowly spun on my heels to face what was the closest to a mother I had.

But instead l the burning angry looks I was getting during the work time, my eyes met with those of pity.

"I can't believe you did it." She said, her eyes wide. "I can't believe you stole someone's wallet."

I almost scoffed. I couldn't imagine Mackenna's reaction of she found out that was a regular thing for me. "I also stole some nuts..." I whispered under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Mackenna took a deep breath, preparing herself to ask the golden question. "Why do you have to do it, Kyra?" She stepped closer to me and broke the eye contact. "Is my dad not paying you enough..? Because I can-"

"Frankie's paying me fine." I said truthfully. Being best friends with the restaurant's owner definitely had its perks.

"Then why?" I felt a pang of guilt because Mackenna looked genuinely confused and worried. Looking into her honey brown eyes, I realized I didn't have an answer to her question.

"Why do you go around causing these poor, unexpecting people pain?" she added helplessly.

This time no guilt hit me. Instead a pinch of anger began to boil in my blood.

"Well, you see... Here's an example: Yesterday I stole from a mother." I said, startling Mackenna more than I would've imagined it would.

She opened her mouth to speak but I cut her off.

"She didn't even realize. She was too busy mending to her two little angel daughters." I found that it was my turn then to stare into her eyes.

"Kyra-"

"These people have homes, Mackenna. They have family to turn to. I think they'll survive with a few missing bucks." I tried to add some lightheartedness into my voice as I shrugged with a little smile and left the restaurant, the bell above chiming when I let the door slam shut.

Maybe it was as a act of rebellion, maybe because I wasn't thinking straight- my mind focusing on Mackenna's words tumbling over and over inside of it- or maybe for no reason at all, but not long after I was walking down the streets to the Foster Care building that awaited me, I smoothly fished out a small wad of money sticking out from a young woman's bursting purse.

I'd had done that very thing many times, but never, ever, since I mastered the art, had someone caught me.

But I guess, that time, I was sloppy.

The woman yelled "thief!" and grabbed my arm in a death grip.

Due to either the loud noise of the streets or the lack of caring, no one payed attention.

Because of that, there was only one shout of protest when I ripped my wrist from the woman's hold and took off running, and it was from the said woman.

After a few long strides, my brain kicked in and I opened my fist and let the the money flutter to the ground behind me. Luck finally decided to be on my side when the woman saw it and stopped to pick it up, leaving me to escape the premises before the authorities were called. I didn't know what the Foster Care would do if they got a call from the police about one of their very own precious children, but I wasn't too keen on finding that out.

Then it was dark.

Instantly, all around me was light-less like a massive monster had stood up and blocked the sun. My guess was far from the actuality but not any less frightening.

I'd ran myself into an ally. And not just any ally. The type of allies you see in movies in big cities where wild cats are in trash cans, rats flood the ground below you, and the local hobo, Robert, is hiding somewhere in the shadows waiting to jump you.

Picking up my pace, I fled down the abandoned street to where the light of civilization shone ahead. So close, yet so far away.

My heart sped along with my quickened steps, and my shirt began to cling to my back using sweat as a paste. My eyes darted at every hint of movement or sound and I ran faster than my last Mile Run test in P.E when a trash can lid fell off the top of the can, where it used to lean and wobble on it dangerously balanced, and clattered to the dirt floor, for some unknown reason. Even though I whispered "it's just a cat, it's just a cat," under my breath, that didn't stop me from jumping five feet.

By the time I made it out of the dark, creepy ally alive, I was panting, my legs aching and my forehead beaded with sweat. I put my hands on my knees and leaned forward, resting my weight on them and catching my breath.

I pulled my jacket closed and decided to see where exactly the place I'd swore I'd never visit again had spit me out at. When I looked up, my eyes met a street I had never seen before. Not that it was anything particularly special.

Or at least that's the way it looked at first glance.

I had to squint to make out the words on the front entrance of the building in front of me, but when my vision came into focus, a smile, very close to what I'd picture Robert wearing, spread across my lips.

"PUBLIC RECORDS" the sign read.

It was then that my brilliant idea formed.