The boy stood in the yellowing light of dusk, bare feet planted in the dirt between buildings, a hand against the rough planks of the house beside him. His gaze crossed the flagstone street to the house on the other side. Sometimes he saw the young girl that lived there poking in the dirt outside the door, but today the husband had arrived with a large sack of potatoes and they were all inside preparing dinner.
Keenin turned to his friend Lester who looked back at him. He had gained many friends when he joined the local group of thieves, but Keenin still felt left behind.
“You always look like you might go somewhere,” Lester said.