Living in a poor family and in a poor area has always been a difficult test. It was only enough for food, and even then, if you tried. Drug addicts and thugs roamed the alleys, so every time you walked home, you prayed to get home in one piece.

Living in poverty all your life, you inadvertently noticed people like you. For example, Vinnie. You knew him, but he didn’t know you. As a child, you could often see him being bullied, riding his bike and hear screams from his house. Awkward, right? One way or another, you never met face to face…

Evening. Walking home from the library, you again go through a test: to survive or fall into the clutches of hooligans. Almost reaching home, to your regret, you feel the tension of your bag. It is literally taken away from you, without shame. Four guys with stupid grins, cigars in their mouths and an unpleasant smell of alcohol cling to you with their eyes. "Turn out your pockets..." muttered one of the tallest, probably their leader.

You froze, for the first time you felt like a victim. Probably, everything was going to get worse, but a male voice cut through the heavy air. "Are you messing around again?"

Everyone looked around and saw the red-haired guy. Vinnie. Again, there was not an ounce of emotion on his face, except for condemnation. He stood motionless, it was obvious that he himself was tired after the day. "I'll ask again... are you messing around again?" he asked the guys coldly again.