Cold, Hungry, and Torn (Feat. Johnny Depp)

Chapter One: The Stranger. 

 I sat alone in the old coffee shop downtown, watching the people filter in and out like ants to an ant hill. Couples, parents, teens, and old folks. Everyone seemed so lovely and happy with their lives. Normal clothes, enough cash in their pockets to actually buy shit, and a smile warm enough to toast the bread I didn’t have. They all had it figured out. All had a life, and home, and something to be happy about. Up until they passed me.

The moment they spotted me, girls held onto their purses tighter, men pulled their women closer, and mothers pushed their children along faster. They all thought they had me figured out. Thought they knew what kind of a person I was. 

 “Um... Ma’am.. You have to buy something if you want to stay here. No loitering.” I heard a man say behind me. I turned and looked up to see someone in a green uniform, obviously an employee here. I looked at him with pleading eyes. “Look... Man, I got nowhere else to go... Just, please let me stay here before dark. Just another hour? I don’t got a home man...” I pleaded desperately.

He just shook his head in disapproval. “Rules are rules. Sorry. Now beat it.” he demanded. I shot him a filthy look, stood proudly on my feet and took a step closer to him. “Fucking assholes like you are why I’ve lost faith in humanity.” I scolded at him and stormed out of the coffee shop.

 The sun was already setting and the wind was already getting chilly. I needed to find somewhere for the night where I wouldn’t freeze to death. I began walking. Like I do every night. Walking wherever the wind was blowing. And if the wind wasn’t blowing, I sit, and wait. Tonight, I walked north. My blonde hair flowing in the wind, the holes in my shoes hitting the pavement hard, and the blisters on my hands burning in the cold night air. No idea where I was going, but no doubts in my mind. This is my life. Has been my life since I was seventeen. 

 “Hey!” I heard someone shouting towards me. I quickly reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my switchblade, holding it so no one would be able to see, but just secure enough so I could stab a bitch if they tried to touch me. I peered around, looking for whomever had just shouted at me, but not saying a word. 

 Finally, I spotted them, they were running towards me. I quickly put my switchblade at arms, and prepared to defend my self. “The fuck do you want? Back up, back the fuck up.” I said to the silhouette standing a few feet in front of me. 

 “Whoa, calm down, I’m not going to hurt you. I saw you in the coffee shop. That guy kicked you out.”. The man told me reassuringly. I tucked my switchblade back into my pocket. “Okay... So?” I asked him, stepping closer to him so I could make out what he looked like. Tall, slender, slightly greasy brown hair, and an... an amazing jawline... 

 “I had just heard what you said... You don’t have anywhere else to go?” He asked me as though it was his business. Despite the fact that I was on the sidewalk in downtown Burbank California, I took the liberty of sitting down.

Thats the nice thing about being homeless. Everywhere is your place. The entire world is your house, and you can sit on any damn sidewalk you want. Sitting against what seemed to be the stairs to an apartment building, I pulled a half smoked cigarette out of my pocket and began searching for my lighter.

“Need a light?” the man asked, sitting down about a foot away from me, as he flicked his zippo lighter open. I nodded and he proceeded to initiate a flame from his light before he stopped and pulled back. “Where’d you get that? It looks like its been smoked by four people and a dog.” he exclaimed. I shrugged. “Don’t have the money to buy my own, so I have to get them any way I can. I think I got this one in the ashtray in a bar.” I explained, waiting for him to light it. He just shook his head and started to reach into his pocket. My instincts kicked in and I snatched my switchblade in about two seconds flat. 

 “Whoa! Chill!” He shouted, pulling his hands from out of his pocket, revealing an actual pack of cigarettes. He offered me one as I put my trusty blade back into my pocket again. I shook my head. “I can’t. I don’t do charity. I get everything myself. Whether I have to make it,” I gestured to my torn up shoes, “or steal it.” I gestured to my outfit. He shook his head again. “It’s not charity. Just a person offering someone something that they don’t want.” He said as he pulled a cigarette out of the pack and insisted that I take it. I let one side of my mouth smile as I grabbed it cautiously and he lit it for me. 

 “You didn’t answer my question.” He informed me, “You don’t have anywhere else to go?” He asked again. I looked down and shook my head, letting my rats nest of hair fall to cover my eyes.

“No. I live on the streets. Homeless. Have been since I was seventeen years young. What do you care?” I said defensively. He looked shocked from what I could see. I took a puff of my cigarette and waited a while until exhaling into about four perfect smoke rings. “Homeless? How is that possible? You seem so young.” he said, looking at me concerned. 

 “Not young. Just not old. I’m nineteen as of three days ago. Celebrated by stealing myself a new pair of jeans.” I told him, offering him a hit off my smoke. He declined and pulled out his own cigarette. “No.” he said. Confused, I asked him, “No what?”. 

 “No. I won’t allow that. A beautiful girl like yourself shall not celebrate her birthday alone and stealing.” He stood up, and offered me a hand. Aside from taking it, I stood up by myself. I don’t trust this guy enough to take his hand, even if he is just trying to help me to my feet. I can do it myself. “Come with me.” He told me as he began to walk away. Hesitantly, I began to walk alongside him. “Where are we going?” I asked him.

“Anywhere. I’m going to celebrate your birthday with you the way everyone should have the chance to.” He told me. I stopped walking, "I can't." I said quietly. “What?” he asked, stopping to look at me. I hesitated. “I can’t trust you. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. I can’t just start walking aimlessly with you.” I informed him, and turned to walk away.

Suddenly, I felt his hand grab my shoulder and with the speed like never before, I whirled around and flung my fist for his face, stopping only about two inches away, while grabbing the neck of his t-shirt. He seemed so scared I almost felt bad. But it was his fault. Touch me, and you better expect that I’m gonna try and hit you. I let go of his shirt hesitantly and pulled my fist away. 

“Sorry...” I began, but he cut me off. “It’s alright. I understand. Living on the streets for three years probably gets to you.” He said, obviously trying not to sound like he was afraid of me. “but seriously, I’m not going to hurt you. If I was, I would have already. I just want to do something nice for you. You seem to have it kinda rough. You deserve a night of happiness.” He smiled and extended his hand. “I’m Johnny. Johnny Christopher Depp.” 

 Against every instinct I had, I shook his hand. He cringed at the feeling of my calluses and blisters against his own skin. “Aurore Rain Manon. Pronounced Mah-No, spelt Manon. It’s French. But people call me Dawn.” 

 “I can see why they call you Dawn.” Johnny said. “And why is that?” I asked. 

 “Because the way the sun hit you when it’s just peaking out from behind the earth, you look like an angel. I can’t imagine how beautiful you must look at dawn.” He said. 

 Never in these three years has anyone talked to me that way.