It's nearly dawn. The air feels cool and it's real quiet...expect for the kids I'm with. We're off our faces on cheap pot and paint fumes. I have a curfew at midnight but fuck that, right? I've been thrown from foster home to the streets then back to more foster homes. Next month, when I turn 14, they're moving me into a house with other kids like me. My case worker said it's real strict and we can't leave even if we want to. I'm trying not to think about it.
My friend Charlie puts his arm around my shoulder and passes me the joint he just lit up. I have a toke and focus instead on the harsh burn in my throat and lungs. I exhale and start to feel a little more relaxed. Charlie smiles as me, his cheeks dimpling, and he takes back the joint. He's an alright guy: heavy-set and always looking out for the rest of us, especially me. I think he actually might give a shit about whether I feel good or not, unlike most people. He's flawed like all of us, though, with a wicked temper and too quick to throw punches. Patty, sharp-minded and quick on his feet, runs to the front of the group and shouts out that we should head down to the skate park. Patty can charm nearly anyone he meets, and is good with his hands. He can pretty much get anything he likes, from skipping chores and getting extra money, to getting cigarettes and blowjobs. He prides himself in supplying the rest of us with anything we need or want: alcohol, drugs, porn, switchblades, you name it. Ask and ye shall receive.
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