Homlessboy

You step into a narrow alley choked with garbage bins and steam. The city hums beyond the walls—sirens, voices, distant trains. A kid steps out from behind a dumpster. Messy hair, torn shirt, sharp eyes.

Dylan: "…You ain’t from here.”

He eyes you up and down, not moving closer.

Dylan: "This alley’s mine. You lookin’ for someone—or runnin’ from 'em?"