The morning dew trickled down her face, picking up the small crystals that rested on the ends of her short coat that constituted her face. The soft light of the sunrise pierced the morning fog leaving brilliant rays of light, and left he grey coat shining from the dew.
To somepony else just waking up in very similar scenery, they reminded her of the lasers the clubs had and was another reminded of her dream to own a club just like it, but now she knew it would never happen. Now she knew her dreams were simply kicking dirt in her face because she failed.
Dawn to the pony now drying herself of dew meant one thing, another day of begging, garbage picking, and street performing. As she combed her mane with one of the few things that wasn’t repoed, her shining silver comb, she wished she had someone to turn to, but she immediately knew she was alone. Oh how she hated dreams, it was because of them she was here. As she thought, her head started to hurt, the works of the paradoxical predicament she was in. If she never would have fallen in love with strings, then dreamt of being one the best. She would have never asked to get a cello, so her parents would have never told her no. She thought about what she did to get this cello, stealing so many bits from her parents. If she never did that then they would have never disowned her, and she’d be able to get bits freely. Only if none of this happened she wouldn’t need bits…
With her mane combed and trademark raggedy bow tie on, she walked out of the park and over to her alley. She was so happy to have found this place; there was a bathroom to an old club that had a door that was in the alley, actually, because of all the puke smell, the only entrance was in the alley. Still, the plumbing worked and the door locked, so she had a safe place to keep her cello and other personal effects safe. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough room in there for her to sleep and keep her things safe, so a great tree in the park is her house nightly. She would sleep in the main building of the club, but that’s where the drug deals are done in the neighborhood.
It’s actually a nice agreement we have, I don’t rat him out and tell him what I learn about his competition, and he keeps me out of the whole drug loop that happens in my backyard. Or rather he keeps me in it, telling me the days it’s planned for, if any big name gangs were coming, stuff like that.
It’s funny, we’ve actually grown to be friends of a sort, and if he needs an extra pair of eyes when dealing with somepony shady, well, he pays well and I blend in with the shadows. Two nights ago there was a big name scam artist that tried to rip him off, not to mention pick pocket him, but let’s just say he wasn’t crafty enough to get one past me. I ate well when he treated me to dinner, and I did like the size of the paycheck; to bad I can still smell blood around the club and in my alley.
But I did leave out what else the club is used for, my black market. You’d be surprised at the things the rich throw away, my job is to find it (along with any food I can scavenge up) and sell it so others can fix it up or resell it for more. Actually, some of the ponies that walk in the door those Tuesday nights might surprise you. I do like it when that happens, the pay so much to ensure their presence in my store goes unheard by the press.
Altogether, with the cello playing on the side, I make enough to manage easily, not enough for an apartment or anything, but I do have cash to blow a lot of the time. Maybe not the life I expected, but it really isn’t awful.