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Newsie of Lombard Street
On a cold and windy night in San Francisco California. I was starving on the side of Lombard Street. Holding my side in agony and dreaming about food, Pier 39 was only a couple blocks away and it had restaurants on it. The smell of pizza blew through the air and I got even hungrier.
As I snuck into the restaurants kitchen. I heard a loud clang and stopped and looked to my left, nothing there. Then to my right, nothing. As I turned my attention back towards the food, my feet were swept out from under me and I hit my head on the counter. I was knocked out cold.
I awoke in the back of a fancy wagon with a man dressed in black was sitting over me.
“Don’t be frightened I got you away from the police,” he said.
“How’d you find me,” I asked.
“I was doing the same as you, stealing food,” he responded.
“What’s your name?” I demanded.
“My names Mickey,” he told me “What is your name?”
“My names Marty but people call me Monk.” I responded.
As Mickey drove around looking for a place to hide, I noticed something unnatural on the wagon. It had Presidential Wagon on the side. I was shocked. Then I yelled “THIS IS THE PRSIDENTS WAGON!” Mickey looked on the side and screamed “IM GOING TO GET THE CHAIR FOR THIS!”
“I know where he’s staying, turn right here and I’ll give you the directions.” I demanded
“Ok, I hope he understands.” He responded.
We rode down Haight and Ashbury then turned left at Clayton Street. When we arrived the police strapped us in irons and told Mickey and me our rights. We apologized to the president. But, instead of throwing us in jail Mr. President accepted our apology and gave us money for food and shelter for the night.
“I was in your position once,” the president started “but I was in the governors’ wagon then. He wasn’t as nice as I’m being to you two.”
“Wow, thanks a lot Mr. President.” I shouted.
“Don’t mention it; just remember to get a good job before the war ends.”
“Ok but what jobs are there in 1918?”I asked
“Since Mickey here was so generous for bringing the wagon back.” He began, “I can probably get him a job as an advisor for me for a year or two.”
“Me?” Mickey shouted surprised.
“Yeah you look like a leader to me.” He replied.
“Do you have any work that I can do for you?” I asked anxiously.
“I’m sure I can find something.” The president was really nice for giving us a job at the White house.
After the war Mickey went on to be the mayor of Dallas, Texas and I just raised enough money to open a restaurant on Pier 39 so I wouldn’t have to buy food anymore.