I awoke with a start. A grubby, shock headed youngster of about four or five was standing nearby, armed with a stick . The ankle biter was poking me in the side with the infernal thing.
"Are you dead mister?"
"I am most certainly not. Stop poking at me"
"Are you sick?"
"No."
"Are you sleeping?"
"I was, until you decided to -OW, I said stop that immediately! I am getting very cross!"
"Are you a hobo?"
"I most certainly am not a hobo. I am Phineas Matova, Man About Town, Poet at Large and apparently a refugee, through no fault of my own, in your fair city."
The brat blinked a couple of times.
"What's a poet at large, mister?"
I sighed heavily and rolled over onto my side.
"You're too young to understand, urchin. Let me sleep"
I closed my eyes with the full intention of meeting Morpheus, but again felt an unwanted object being thrust into my side.
"What is it now, urchin?" I blearily opened my eyes and was met with the rather disapproving gaze of a policeman.
to be continued..
