The Thieves on Seventh Street ( #justwriteit #freshstart )

Chapter 2

My eyes scan over the boys for about the millionth time, expecting to catch something, anything, that could give away what they are up to. But nothing. The street kids look just that-Street kids. My eyes narrow, but they just sit there. Like street kids.

I groan and lean my head back, rubbing my eyes. I know they are up to something, and I grow vexed from not knowing what it is. I run my dirty fingernails through my tousled thick brown hair and sigh. What a waste of time. I could be back in my cozy alley by now, by the burnt out lamp post, eating Martha's cake. But no. Instead I decided to come here and burn these precious last hours of daylight, sitting on the stupid ground on seventh street. What a waste of-Wait.

There. Right there. The smallest flinch catches the corner of my eye. From my peripheral vision, I see it. My lips widen into a foolish grin. Gotcha' ya.

A man wearing a long musty dark brown coat walks out of the shop where I just barely got away from idiot cop one and idiot cop two. As he passes the boys, the youngest's face flinches the tiniest bit. You wouldn't even realize it if you were staring him in the eyes. His expression is completely hidden. Unnoticeable. Unless, of course, you're a street kid.

I carefully inspect the man as he pulls out a leather satchel hiding under the flap of that ugly coat. He reaches in and withdraws a dusty map, scrutinizing it carefully. He turns it around every which way before he finally settles on the right angle. The man uses his thick fingers to smooth out the crinkles in the faded map (which I notice is still being held upside down) and gives it a confused stare. I roll my eyes and immediately label him a tourist, soon growing bored watching him fumble with his bent map.

My gaze shifts back to the six 'innocent' boys, which of five seem not even slightly dazed by the man at all. I smirk, seeing the mistake with their plan. How idiotic to let a small boy, probably around the age range of six or seven, play a part in their heist?

My smile widens even further, having finally figured out what these boys are up to. So they're thieves, huh? I smirk, brushing some soot off my shoulder from the chimney of the store behind me. I have to admit, they're pretty sneaky. And that's a big thing to say coming from me. But I could do better.

I nestle up against the hard wall of the shop and stretch my elbows behind my head, resting my neck in my hands. It's always entertaining to see a good show. Let's just hope the overture isn't too long.

I notice the smallest child begin to shift from foot to foot, waiting anxiously. I'll say it again: You shouldn't let a six year old in on your plan. I shake my head, tisking the older boys.

I notice the man has finally put his upside down map away and has now taken out a chunky black camera. He begins to snap pictures as I look back to the boys and groan. Good god, when are they gonna make a move? I understand caution, but this is ridiculous!

One of the oldest boys leaning against the faded orange bricks of the bank glances down at his small watch and twists the tiny silver knob, adjusting the time. But he then resumes to his original position, and spins the wheel of a rusty bicycle leaning against the brick next to him, ringing the bell on the handlebars consistently. Quite annoying. But nothing.

Amidst my boredom, I begin to study the similarities and differences in the twins, who are still going at their small game of nickels. I can't seem to decide which is the eldest. I make a game of it.

They both have bright hazel eyes, which seem to glisten in the sun beating down on their backs. However, I notice the boy to the right has numerous flecks of dark brown just sinking into the green, while the other has a sparse amount of flecks. Just two on the right eye, I note. They both share the same color of sandy brown hair, which seems to perfectly match their eyes. It is tousled and messy, just as mine, and has a slight wave to it. Their faces are either tan or coated in a thin layer of dirt, I can't tell. Probably both, seeing the heat we have been having lately, and all the dust being kicked up by running children. Just beneath the fine silt, I spot a myriad of small freckles, dotting from their noses to their foreheads, connecting like constellations.