As I do every morning, I walk by the queue. Well-dressed gentlemen, hover over the shoe polishers, greed gleaming in their eyes as hunger in vultures. Their greasy skin, drips over collars, like oil from the bacon they had for breakfast, quivering at the boys beneath them. Their eyes are clouded, unaware, boredom and impatience evident.
The young men at their feet swelter under the hot sun, beating onto them, wrinkling their dark skin. Sweat soaks through their thin garments, revealing their toothpick-like structure. The first man in the queue steps back. Expectantly the young shoe cleaner, no older than twelve, clearly new to this job, looks up. The vulture, looks upon the boy, scoffing before turning away. Walking by me, I hear him mutter. …show more content…
Apologising, I straighten his coat. His face turning red, he babbles angrily. People around us notice the commotion, coming over to help him get his balance, taking advantage, I ‘accidentally’ skew his balance. Reaching to help him, my hand slips into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, quickly weighing it in my hand, I slide it into my back pocket. Catching his wrist I clumsily pull him forward, unclasping his watch. A Rolex. Score. I scamper away, panting and apologising, trying hard not to laugh. I stalk back through the crowd, reaching the building on the corner before I hear a loud yell. Giggling, I skip around the corner, noticing the smirks of the people who sit in the streets, already used to my daily ritual. Retracing my steps, I find my way back to the polishers.
The boy, trembling like a cornered rabbit, shone the shoes of the pig in front of him. A bruise, fresh and pulsing, shone on his cheek. Looking over to the other polishers, cowering under the sharp glare of the suited men, I feel pity stirring with rage. But I can’t do anything. Not yet.
I sit on the kerb of the street, watching the large bell tower, only slightly obscured by the foliage of summer. Heat wraps around me, pushing me over, hunching my back. The clock slowly ticks away, pulling the sun away from
The young men at their feet swelter under the hot sun, beating onto them, wrinkling their dark skin. Sweat soaks through their thin garments, revealing their toothpick-like structure. The first man in the queue steps back. Expectantly the young shoe cleaner, no older than twelve, clearly new to this job, looks up. The vulture, looks upon the boy, scoffing before turning away. Walking by me, I hear him mutter. …show more content…
Apologising, I straighten his coat. His face turning red, he babbles angrily. People around us notice the commotion, coming over to help him get his balance, taking advantage, I ‘accidentally’ skew his balance. Reaching to help him, my hand slips into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, quickly weighing it in my hand, I slide it into my back pocket. Catching his wrist I clumsily pull him forward, unclasping his watch. A Rolex. Score. I scamper away, panting and apologising, trying hard not to laugh. I stalk back through the crowd, reaching the building on the corner before I hear a loud yell. Giggling, I skip around the corner, noticing the smirks of the people who sit in the streets, already used to my daily ritual. Retracing my steps, I find my way back to the polishers.
The boy, trembling like a cornered rabbit, shone the shoes of the pig in front of him. A bruise, fresh and pulsing, shone on his cheek. Looking over to the other polishers, cowering under the sharp glare of the suited men, I feel pity stirring with rage. But I can’t do anything. Not yet.
I sit on the kerb of the street, watching the large bell tower, only slightly obscured by the foliage of summer. Heat wraps around me, pushing me over, hunching my back. The clock slowly ticks away, pulling the sun away from