The boy under bridges and the girl who gave much..

Sirens echoed up and down the street, and the dirt from under the bridge remained caked to his skin as he slid down another water logged alleyway. No matter how much rain poured down upon his head and body, Max Summers remained caked with mud and dirt. Max was nineteen, and for the past two years, had been living on the streets of Toronto. Kicked out when he was seventeen, he had been trying to survive, all the while avoiding violence and searching for food—a task he was currently trying to accomplish. As Max quickly came onto the busy street he pulled up the hood of his dirty sweatshirt and continued down the street towards the one place he knew he'd find solace. Quickly dodging inside from the rain he pulled off his hood again, signed the clipboard by the door, and entered into the main room. There weren't nearly as many people as he expected to find what with the thunderstorm outside, but that didn't matter to him—in his eyes, that meant more food. As he entered the first person he saw was the first person he ever really spoke to, the only person off the streets who would look at him and not cringe away in disgust.

"Hello Max; now you're quite a sight aren't you?" Her name was Moira and she had to be at least fifty, but she was like an aunt to Max, and had been there since he started showing up at St. Johns Homeless Shelter.  Max scratched his head a little as Moira laughed at him, "Let's go you, up to the loft quick and I'll let you use my shower again."

Normally, if people went anywhere near that loft they'd get their hands chopped off by Moira or Louise, Moira's sister. Together they ran the homeless shelter, and together they agreed that as a regular and as the youngest person at the shelter, Max deserved the special privileges that he got. It might also have to do with the fact that the mud caked to his skin really made him stink. Max took the steps two at a time and turned just in time to catch a bundle of fabric.

        "What's this?" he asked his throat sore and his voice hoarse from speaking for the first time in so long. He was pretty sure his voice was permanently hoarse now, thanks to the lack of use.

"New clothes. It's been about a month now, and those clothes you're wearing aren't washable anymore- you've got that mud caked in pretty good. Speaking of which, take your time in that shower. It would be nice to recognize you once you're done," she winked.

"Thanks Moira," Max grinned gratefully before heading into the bathroom and pulling off his mud-caked clothes before poking his head out again, "What do I do with the muddy clothes?"

"Chuck em'."

Max couldn't help the grin that snuck onto his face again. That was twice in less than three minutes, and yet it still felt so foreign. The shower that followed was the best part of Max's day and as he climbed out he looked into the mirror and saw his face again, not the mud ball that he saw before.  He ran a hand through his hair appreciatively. His natural dark brown hair was a much nice alternative to the blackish-grey he'd been living with since the rain had started almost two weeks ago. He ran a hand over his face before scratching his head again and pulling on the new clothes.

"There's the face I remember," Max looked over as he exited the bathroom and smiled at Louise who in turn grinned back. Louise was always a bit of a grump down below because of some of the other workers, but when she was up in the loft, she was one of the funniest, nicest people Max had ever met in Toronto.

"Hi Lou," Max smiled a little, scratching his head again. His head had been mad itchy lately, but it was April. Mosquitoes were in abundance at this time of the year anyways.

"How you doing kid?"

"I'm ok; the bridge is kind of flooded again… which I'm sure explains the extra mud."

"It definitely does. How do the new clothes fit?"

"Good, they're good."

"You think they'll be warm enough?"

"I'll be fine Lou."

"That's what you always say, but you know kid, I don't always believe you."

"Don't always?" Max laughed, "You never do."

"Now there's a laugh I missed," Moira appeared again, leaning against the doorframe, "You hungry kid?" she grinned, knowing there was never a time when he wasn't. They learned during the first couple of trips Max made to St. Johns that he was a never ending pit when it came to eating.

Max laughed before heading down the stairs and back into the mess hall, his new thick sweater over his arm. Quickly grabbing a plate he walked over to the not as long as it would normally be line-up. Normally people would put down their sweaters and then they'd go and get themselves food, but in a homeless shelter you couldn't put down anything… at least not if you wanted to keep it. With so many homeless people in one place, a sweater is like a long lost treasure, once you have it, you don't let go.