... I guess I should call it home. After all I had never seen any other place in my life.
My life - twelve years in the streets of this town, seeing the good and evil, the wealthy and poor. I had spent some time trying to find my way into their world.
Without guidance and at least some persons to trust, to share my thoughts, wishes and fears with - impossible.
The times when I had parents or somebody who cared for me were long gone and fell into oblivion, surpressed by the task to survive every upcoming day on my own.
This task forced me to remain cautious and observant, looking for lost coins on the ground or dropped remains of "food" ,watching out for violent men that wouldn't even stop if their target was a kid.
Soon I began to realize that many of the peasants around me, hurrying through narrow lanes, plodding in blacksmiths, tanneries, labouring on the fields and forrests, had their focus on their work at daylight, on beds or taverns at night.
They were blinded by their work, forcing their way through the streets in order to get to the place they belong to.
The huddled masses were used to run into eachother, to jostle someone, and so they didn't even perceive when someone touched their arm or streaks their clothes when passing by.
Opportunities opended up for me. For the time being I helped out with simple errands, or helped the occupied persons in carrying their pockets further.
Good for both sides of course, I had their money and they got rid of the enourmous weight of the pocket, dragging them down, detaining them from getting to work as fast as they could.
A pickpocket - yes, but who cared? I did not, and someone else wasn't relevant.