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Ok, I had absolutely no intention of writing this story. I was trying to write a real dramatic one that hopefully will actually make it on here. So while I was in the shower, I was brainstorming ideas (come on, don't lie, you all think best in the shower) and came up with this one. I wrote this story at midnight in my first week of summer vacation. No promises, just review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. You know I don't own Newsies. I also don't own any of the characters of the movie Newsies. The lovely people down at Disney do.

Morning Routine

In loving memory of my sanity. ?-2006

They sing. They sing while they get ready.

They're pansies. Every single last one of them.

And Davey isn't even here.

Maybe I should back up from the beginning. Well not quite the beginning, since thank God I wasn't here at the beginning. I was in Brooklyn, where there is some pathetic grain of sanity among us. And, I, Spot Conlon, am spending the night at the Manhattan lodging house. For the record, it wasn't by choice. I was just planning on spending the day here, and then we all started to have a little fun, and by fun I mean the boys and me all got drunk off our asses. Therefore, I ended up staying in their end of New York.

I woke up this morning from a groggy sleep to the saddest thing I think I've ever seen. Or heard, depending on what you want to call it. Well, first Kloppman came in and woke everyone up, but I fell back asleep. So what I really woke up to were the other guys. In case the headache from being completely hung over wasn't enough, I had to hear Racetrack telling Snipeshooter that it was his damn cigar. Shit, Race is like what, 6 years older than the kid is? Can he not have a slight morsel of authority? But it is Racetrack.

Then, the ever amazing Kid Blink stepped in, then Specs gets into it, then the whole bunk room asks who asked him. It's as if they rehearse for this.

When I finally crawl out of bed, I try to go through my own routine of just getting ready to go sell. I throw on some clothes, wash my face, comb my hair, and grab my hat and cane, all the normal stuff.

Mush asks Jack the same question which I'm sure he asks every morning. And every morning Jack tells Mush he slept on his back. And Mush thinks it's hilarious every morning. I'll admit, I kinda laughed in spite of myself. So then, Crutchy asks Jack if he looks like he's faking his limp. Jack's hair is really greasy. Then the conversation about good selling spots begins. Personally, I would think after this many months or years of selling, one would know. But nope. But the best part of all of this is Jack throwing shaving cream at Mush. Since I'm sure they go through this same routine each day, maybe one time Mush should throw stuff at Jack. Turning the tables could be fun.

Following up all of this is the normal stuff, well at least stuff that even happens in Brooklyn. Blink wants money, Crutchy thinks he smells bad, Mush met a girl, someone's elbow is in Crutchy's way, Race wants a towel, and Skittery wants a buck and he just might give it to him. Finally, they're all ready and leave the lodging house to Kloppman counting them.

They're still singing.

There you have it! This story contains zero passive sentences and has a Flesch-Kincaid grade level of 5.4. My computer's Microsoft Word's spelling and grammar check provided these lovely statistics. You know your life is complete now that you know that.

Okay, now review. Now. D

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