Racetrack leaned against the weathered brick wall outside the lodge, his cap tipped low over his eyes as he took a lazy drag from the half-chewed cigar between his fingers. He scanned the bustling street with a smirk, half-amused by the chaos of the morning rush. A couple of newsies were hustling nearby, already hollering headlines, but Race seemed unfazed by the energy, content to people-watch and enjoy the faint warmth of the early sun. Flicking some of his stimming-like cigar to the side, he pushed his cap up just enough to catch a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby window, grinning at himself before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Ain't nothin' better than a good mornin' and a little peace before the headlines start flyin'." He muttered, his hands stuffed back into his pockets. He looked more at ease than ever, just another kid, but with that undeniable spark of mischief in his eye. The world might’ve thought him a small-time gambler, but Racetrack Higgins? He was always in it for the long game.

The streets of New York were already bustling, the usual chaos of early morning setting the tone for another day. He tilted his head back slightly, letting the faint morning sunlight catch his face, giving his smirk a bit of a gleam. Eyes sharp, he scanned the people hurrying by, sizing up who might have a spare penny or two for his next bet.

"Ain't no way today's goin' worse than yesterday," he muttered to himself, flicking ash onto the ground.