Creative Writing: New York City Boy

There was a slight breeze over the unusually quiet streets of New York City. A gentle fog was settled over the Hudson River, as the early morning dew rested on the rustling leaves. It was a calm and soothing morning; pedestrians going out for an early jog, the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air, Times Square gradually brimming up with worn out, yellow cabs. The leaves were already changing into a bright assortment of colors as autumn came rolling around. The teeming railway station was waiting for the arrival of the next train, and the usual morning group stood along the edges of the rusty tracks. In the midst of company of strangers, stood a young boy. No older than 13, he stood by himself, nervously waiting for the next

He took note of the suitcases by him, and created himself a makeshift bed. Within seconds, he was asleep, resting at last away from home. The boy had big dreams. He had always wanted to be a boxer, as he constantly saw on TV. The only time his family would come together when the match came on. During his brief nap on the train, he dreamt of standing in the ring during the championship. It was him and the world champion. As he fought and fought, the boy kept getting knocked down and down. But, every time he would get back up and never stop. When he jolted back up from his dream, there was something on his face that had not been there in years. A

As he was strolling along the concrete sidewalk, he came across Seventh Avenue. A lonesome group of me, by the graffiti covered wall, were selling the worst of the worst drugs. The same place his parents had bought drugs from. But, no matter how desperate he was, the boy could not imagine going back there. Several weeks passed, and the boy was even much weaker than before. All he had to eat was a loaf of bread, given to him by the same plump woman at the railway station. He had slept on the park benches outside of Central Park, and occasionally on the streets. There was no hope for him left. No home. No money. No food. But, everyday, the boy got back up and kept looking for jobs. One day, after the rain had finally stopped pouring and the skies filled with clouds, the boy walked across a restaurant. The place had been recently opened since he could smell the fresh paint and see the newly made signs. Boxer Restaurant. He entered into the restaurant as the chiming bells rang from the window. The radio was blaring an old classic, a Simon & Garfunkel song. There were an abundance of TVs, mounted on the wall, presenting a different boxing match in each one. The boy could already call this place