track one)

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                                                                                                                                              no angels // bastille

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Downtown Manhattan.

A boy sits,

against a wall

on 7th street.

He watches passengers

turn to fog

in between yellow

taxis.

A man approaches.

He kneels down

by the boy.

"Alright?" he asks.

The boy blinks,

arms tense,

pulse racing.

"I'm not allowed to talk to strangers."

"My name's Nick," The man says.

He extends his hand

towards the boy. Hesitantly,

he shakes it. The boy's

ebony skin encompassed in

white.

Nick looks

expectantly at

the boy.

"What are you doing

downtown? 

Shouldn't you be

in school

or something?"

"Nah," he says. "I like coming here

to ditch."

"Where's your mother?"

The boy blinks. Nick takes a seat

against the wall 

as well.

"I don't know."

"Do you need money?"

Defensively, the boy stands up. "I'm not homeless."

"I never said--"

He takes off,

running down

the street.

He pushes past

crowds of tourists

and locals.

He can hear the man

yelling for him,

but it all becomes background noise,

it all blends in

with the traffic.

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