After two hours of sitting like a beggar, I gather up my pot and make my way into the alley. I hide behind the building and start counting my earnings. Eleven dollars and thirty six cents. Maybe people are more generous than made out to be. I probably could have made more money from pick-pocketing and sneaking it from the fountain, but this way was at least semi-legal. They willingly gave me their money.
I gather up the bills and change, putting it in my pocket. It's a little heavy but I'll deal. I'll probably stash it with my clothes and pick it up on my way home. For now, I have to get to the tattoo place. I guess it's my turn to get the family crest like Keagan told me about.
I break into a light jog through the back alleys. I'm not in a rush, but I'm antsy to get back to stealing. The quicker I get this tattoo over with, the quicker I can get back to stealing.
YOU ARE READING
The Forgotten
General FictionWe are the runaways, the homeless, the deformed, and the people that society casts away and eventually forgets about. We are the people who are overlooked if noticed at all. We don't follow the rules of the commoners. We don't conform to societal no...
