Night in Chicago. Not a good time for rich little tourists to be out and about. There ‘re plenty shady individuals around these alleys. I was one of them. I scuttled behind the couple I had noticed a few minutes ago. They dressed well enough to be stupid, wore enough to be rich. I saw Ali emerge from the shadows like a bodiless wraith a few meters away. Bodiless wraiths are his speciality. I snarled at him softly, showing him I’d staked my claim first. He stuck his tongue out at me in a way that clearly said Fine! But I won’t share my pocket money with you next time. I rolled my eyes. Pocket money. Ali worked for John, the king of Chicago around here. John ran a number of illicit gambling dens, sold drugs and cigarettes. And..... other things. Ask and you shall receive sort of things. Of course his name wasn’t really John Sparks. No one knew his name. What they did know was that he ran a large operation in the back streets of Chicago. For Thieves. He gave them lodging. Something to eat. Maybe some of the hard stuff on Thursday nights, if they’d been especially good. In return, they stole. The more money they brought in to him, the more pocket money, as John liked to call it, he gave them. John had found me when I was starving and half-frozen to death on the streets of Chicago. He brought me to the barracks and gave me a relatively clean bed and some food. Nursed me back to health. For free. ‘Course, he figured I’d want to work for him after. Figured I was the light-fingered sort. Not that I’m not. I am. But I didn’t want to work for him. I may not be an angel, but I won’t stoop that low. So I left.
The couple I’d been stalking for the last few blocks turned into the well light drive way of the Peninsula hotel. I hissed through my teeth and scuttled away. I had no particular love of those doormen. I’d had several run-ins with them before.
An hour later I was still scavenging around the alleys, looking for something to eat or steal. There were never many rich pickings at night, but there were always some decent scraps in the rubbish tip at the end of the road. I scuttled forwards on my hands and feet, filthy hair stuck to my scalp with several layers of sweat, dirt and grime. I could feel the fleas moving around and slapped my head, grumbling. This is the price, I thought. But maybe it’s worth it. ‘Aint nobody gonna make me a lady. That’s what I’d told my mother, the day she’d arrived. What I’d told her every day at the mansion. What I’d told her before I’d run away. What I was telling myself now
I scampered up the rubbish heap, sniffing at the heaped remains. I couldn’t see what anything was and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Best just rely on my nose. Or not. A filthy stench, pungent and heavy reached my nostrils. I gagged and fell straight down from the rubbish heap. The ground was growing slowly hotter and I shrieked and leapt up, hands blistering. I jumped back onto the rubbish heap, the metal tins and foil wrappers cooler against my feet. The wind, filled with dirt, whipped fiercely in my face and I closed my eyes, burying my cheek into my shoulder. The loose dirt in the wind stung my cheeks. Gradually the wind slowed. I raised my head, only one question in my mind.
“What the heck?”
So write more, and keep writing! 
