Yeah well I was down under the flop and you don't see me bragging.

[The crawlspace under the warehouse was not, strictly speaking, a safe place to live. It frequently flooded in early springtime, which had killed more than one street-kid, and the floorboard flexed troublingly overhead whenever the big trucks went over, but it was warmer and out of the wind, and even though there were raccoons and rats that came by looking for a bite, quite often, though that could be a boon as much as a hazard. Red liked her odds just fine on a below-ground hidey-hole with adequate insulation and three ways out. She'd thought herself safe enough for a night.]

Must'a gassed us. [She doesn't know what city; there were distinctions, between the city lines, where they all merged in one high-rise orgy, but only inasmuch as sales tax and police jurisdiction and business regulations mattered. Nothing at all to signify, for one such as her] Anyways, we's not the only ones. And only one kinda grown up goes pulling in orphans and street kids.

So like I said: you want a sharp one, or what?