The beginning night was cool with a little fitful wind causing the persiennes and loose outside advertisement frames to clack and clatter. Occasionally there could be seen a couple of light raindrops coming down from the black cloud masses hovering bleakly above the roofs. If then someone was able to distinguish the actual clouds from the smog. Those warm gentle kisses of summer died gradually away, leaving their way for the embraces of autumn. This was maybe the first aura of the fall rains, yet fading still away. Only the clouds roamed there above, letting their inners pour elsewhere. No afterglow was reflected in them, the sun somewhere behind them went to sleep without a golden glow.

Somewhere there, in the middle of a nameless district, was wandering an alien boy. Maybe eight or nine years he had reached in a relevant human age. Dirty, white wisps of hair were glued to his face, and somewhere from behind them blinked a pair of almost black eyes. The regard in them was tired, extinct, something that such a young lad would have not gained if living in a decent family. No, they were the brands of destitution, misery, poverty… those blank pupils and the brows that were drawn deep in wrinkles told about the nights spent in the open air. Thus although he had not even reached his first tenth, his soul was as if it had seen the march of twenty years. A stray, yes.

Walking with his bare feet on the muddy lane, his little figure looked just as depressing as the environments. The notorious Trade World was his home, this dirty ghetto somewhere a bit above the sewer structures. Clothed with some rags that resembled a jacket, a long shirt, and worn-out jeans, were covering the long and thin limbs of this child. Greyish-green skin peeped from under the dirt that was decorating his cheeks. And what was his aim here on this abominable back street? The figure of a trash can in the dead end part of it. Yes, those kinds of things were his supplies for living besides stealing. This time of the day was his usual garbage can tournée hour. Into the shapeless knapsack he had hanging on his other shoulder, he used to collect everything he found usable.

One bleak street light cast its pallid rays above the brick wall that cooped up the narrow road. Above there, raised up the apartment houses, as dispiriting-looking as the spaces underneath there. The boy padded along the patchy pavement, getting his little feet even more covered with the mire, as a puddle happened to stand on the dot where he aimed his step. His soles were however used to such hiking, so the boy did not give a piece of blazar about that earthy litter any longer. His thoughts were addressed to ponder the inners of the looming large tin container back there, under that lamp. He passed by a couple of messy graffities before tapping to the wonderful object. And what was there else to wait but that the limbo was too high for him? Thus after finding an old box to lengthen his legs a bit, he was ready to tear the heavy trashcan lid open.

"Ok lessee…" he mumbled to himself with a high-pitched voice, "I got lotsa stuff l'ready but if I fin' 'ere som'thin… I coul' earn a couple o' bucks more, don't hafta do pickpocketin' then…" Yes, hard talk for a person of his age. However, had he actually an age any more…? This kid was a grown-up and ragged from inside, lost his childlike innocence in the maltreat of street life. Playing with video games was not his hobby, neither going boy-scouting or ice-hockeying. Only trying to gather up some doleful dimes by sinking his hands into the abysses of crimes. 

Hence after the lid was open, it was time for actions. Item by item he tossed junk out of the bin, envisaging though if there was something proper left from the less poor people. "Ok so I donneed a bag fullo ol' sardine cans… an' no… wait wazzup here…" From a half-open plastic bag he found some a bit over-ripe bananas. Peeling one of them he crammed it into his wide mouth with both hands and then continued the trash-digging, munching the possibly only supper he would have this night. Next his little fingers approached something harder down there. It was a plastic case with some nanolaserdisks inside it. With the skills he had this far gathered from different places, he was able to spell slowly the text on the case.

"Yod… Yode… Yodels from Al… Alps… sun--g by… Sp--spi-c…e… Spice G-g-ir-l-s…" Staring for a while at the case, he unzipped the knapsack and threw it in there among the other junk. "Whateva… mebbe som'one stupid buys it."

Continuing the work, he suddenly got himself to prick up his pointy ears. Had he heard a small cry coming from somewhere?

"Nah nothin'" he gave a little smack with his lips and swallowed the last pieces of the banana.

There was a big metal box down there under some half-rotten food. The boy was interested in to see what this item might contain. Stretching his both arms he gripped it, attempting to heave it up… and again. A cry. A miserable whimper coming from nowhere.  

"Who's there?" the smeary boy startled a bit.

No answer in a few seconds. Just the silence of the dark backstreet. Then… another whimper, this time a longer one.

"Wuz that?" he scratched confused his white-grey hair. "Babies cry like dat, don't they? I've heard they cry like dat. But there ain't no baby 'ere."

However, now the noises continued. And this audio phenomenon got the wee male to turn his gaze back at the container he had been studying. No doubt, the squawking was coming from there. Nevertheless, the little street alien was one big question mark.

"Wuz that… is there a baby down there?" He tilted his head back and forth but inferred to make the riddle clearer. The moaning was coming from deeper there, yet from the upper layers but not from the direction of the metal box. The boy stepped into the large container from the lid hole, creeping then in. Some minutes grovelled, the streetlight eerily gleaming above the slum corner… and then the child appeared back from the litter lair even more squalid he had previously been. And something was in his arms, a packet that was stirring and wheezing.

He flopped down to sit on the pavement, leaning to the side of the dustbin. With hesitating moves he wrapped the greenish cloth away from around the noise-keeping parcel. Eyes wide open he gaped at the findings, a baby of maybe two-three months old… now resting on the support of his arm. Who knew how long the container had kept this tiny thing in its dungeons? There was fabric enough to keep it warm, but there ended the suits. A small boy it was, bluish-black hair growing strong on his head. The skin had bluish pigment, that much the half-dim lamppost gave clues.

Blinking his eyes the elder person examined flabbergasted the minor being. "Where's yer mommy?"

Of course the baby had no skills to speak yet, but just continued the squealing.

"Shht…" the boy attempted to soothe the crying bundle. He had not a single grasp how to handle a child of that age, but endeavoured hard to figure out something. "Shht, I won't hurt ya… where's yer mommy? Or daddy? Ain't ya got no parents?" At the moment the talking one noticed that something was wetting his hand that he kept under the kid. What else would have been expected than that the trashcan person had… little urgencies. But he did not much care about this detail, hadn't he just been rummaging putrid goods down there?

The peeping had ceased somewhat. Maybe it was the warmth of the lap, or something. Or maybe just simply the presence of someone made the baby calmer. No one knew in what kind of state it had been lying there in the black inferno, but the rumbling there had apparently awakened it from some comatose state.

The elder boy kept on his questioning, amazed, befogged. "Ya got no mommy? But who left ya 'ere? Hmm, well me mommy left me. But that wuz a long time ago. A really long time ago." Fiddling the short, fluffy hair of the baby with his fingers, the street citizen continued, "So guess we're like tha same then, huh? Me mommy kicked me outta my home an' som'one left ya here, that's right?"

"Waaa! Uaaa!" was the clarifying answer.