So what's yer name, kid? Real name, I mean--first an' last. I gotta keep accurate records or the city gets on me back, but I ain't gonna share 'em wit no one.

Asa McCoy-I haven't been called dat 'do since me muddah died. For a while in the streets I went by da name Tommy. But please don't call me those.

Ya gots a nickname? How'd ya get it?

Pitchy McCoy. I used to sing a bit back when I was ten, while polishing shoes in the street. I was us'aly off tune, so my friends on da street called me Pitchy. Pitch for short.

Know how old ya are? When's yer birthday? The boys all likes to chip in an' make ya feel special. By which I mean, they likes any excuse for a party.

17, sir. I was born on January 17th.

Now describe yer appearance for me. Try an' be detailed. My mem'ry ain't what it useta be, an' if I hears about a vicious killer on the loose, I wanna be able to check my records an' make the connection.

Let's see, how do I describe myself? I got messy light brown hair, that often sticks up. I'm strong, but I don't got much of a muscular build to show fer it. I gots this necklace I wear for luck. *chuckles* Not that the luck is any good. Oh, I's also got dese big brown eyes, and me muddah's smile. Not that you know what she looks like, but...

Got any odder job 'sides sellin' papes? Legal or illegal, I ain't gonna squeal on ya.

Nah, just sellin' papes. Like I said before, I did polish shoes when I was 10. I did sell some stuff for a guy in New Jersey when I was 13. I never saw da moichendise, and I never got a good look at da guy I was workin' for, but I got caught by da bulls for it. Believe me, I'm done wit' dat now. That's all behind me.

All right, time for the big one. What kinda person are ya, kid? How d'you treat odders? How d'you treat yerself? We gets all kinds here, so be honest--I just wanna know what to expect.

I'm quiet 'til ya's gets ta know me. I got some trust issues, but there's some people I can just tell are good--like you sir. I never talk about this stuff with anyone. I'm the kind of person that listens to e'ryone, and I look out for the ones who can't look out fer demselves. I ain't a squeeler, or a rat. I'm loyal til the end. I don't back down easy. I'm strong willed. I'm persistent. I'm a hard worker, and I ain't half bad at sellin' papes.

Got any hobbies? Whaddaya do wit yer spare time?

I uh, I like to write. *chuckles* Imagine me, a writer. But I keep a journal, I figure ya never know--someday someone might want to read about the Newsies livin' on the streets o' New York. *mutters to self* Not sure who would want to. *smiles softly, and closes eyes* But ya never know.

How 'bout vices or bad habits? Smokin', drinkin', gamblin'? I want 'cha to promise to keep 'em outside the house.

The occasional smoke when offered. Same wit' da gamblin', but I don't bet a whole lot. Heck, I gots no money in my pockets to bet. But as far as bad habits go--my fingers are always tappin' out a beat. Sometimes I do it to calm me down, sometimes I do it just cuz I's bored.

Got any fam'ly or friends 'round here? Or enemies, for that matter? Tell me who ya knows in the area.

I gots fam'ly 'round. Not sure where, but they're around. I've never been close to's my extended family. And if dat cousin o' mine, Hanson, ever shows his face around here, I'll soak 'em I tell ya. Soak 'em!

An' maybe a special someone? I got a special set o' rules when it comes to that sorta t'ing.

No. I mean, der's beautiful guils around every corner, but not the one for me. Not yet anyways.

Fin'ly, every boy's favorite question... *chuckles darkly* What can ya tell me 'bout yer past? Where'd ya grow up, what brought ya here, an' what happened in between?

I was born in Brooksville, Maine, and lived an okay life 'til my parents were shot and killed right in front of me. I was 5. I was a pretty smart one 'do. I knew what an orphanage was, and I knew I didn't want that. I traveled, hitchin' rides, and sneakin' on trains. Not much work a 5 year old can do though. For a short while I picked up odd jobs at a shipyard. Nothin' permanent though, and dey kicked me out the moment the bulls caught wind. I did get caught when I was 7, for stealin' some food. Of all things--me, get caught stealin'. I usually just ate trash, and things I could find that no one wanted. I'd never really stolen--just dis once. I saw this beautiful, freshly baked loaf o' bread. Oh, the smell. I thought, Hey, why not? I'd seen everyone else around me do it. Of course, bein's I's only 7, I was sent to a children's home, and I went to school. I ran away when I was 9 though, hitched a ride back up North, and founds myself in New Yawk. I decided I'd stay here a while. At least until I gets enough money in me pockets to settle down out west.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Profile By: Addy/Ace

E-mail Address: pitch3mccoy@gmail.com