He moved closer to the typewriter to read the freshly printed words. Being a pickpocket should be easy enough right? Dawn and I survived on the streets before we were sent to that orphanage. He steadily typed, Yes, before moving away from the typewriter once again. He knew that what he typed would seal his fate, but even so at least now he was out of that crumby orphanage.

((This will probably be my last post for the night.))