Home aint like no proper home. Only reason I go home? Put food on Mama’s plate.
I’m out late, until Papa’s drunk anyways, cos if he’s awake, he hits me. Hits Mama too, for fuckin’ George twice a week and other men other times. It puts bread in your belly kid, Mama says.
I’m with Dockside Crew. We do stuff, mostly stealin’. The older kids look out for me an’ I get to hang with the corner girls. Maria gives me food if I aint stealed much. I aint tellin’ Mama all this though: Mama’s got enough on her plate.