Part 1
Cecile pawned off her husbands only pair of gallies. It was a calculated risk going down to the docks once Jimmy told her where Harland was passed out, but one well worth the reward: five shillings! Now she knew that those old boots of his were not worth near five shillings, but she always gave her fence, Billy, favors for free. In return, he always took care of her when she had something tangible to give. Billy knew she would now be able to drink and have something to eat. Food is what she would normally do without whenever she had coins in her hand.
Cecile headed down the cobblestones of White Chapel, stale bread in one hand and pint of warm gin in the other. She flaunted both the gin and the bread to all who saw her on the street. They never shared with her if they had a turn in luck, so why should she share with them. Nope, it was only Harland who ever gave Cecile anything without wanting something in return. As the gin began to take effect on her malnourished body, she began to feel more and more sentimental towards Harland. She turned up the bottle towards the raining sky, emptied it and decided she would work all night and all weekend long. She wasn't going to stop until she had enough money to buy back Harland's boots on Monday morning. He wouldn't be able to go to work Monday without boots. Realizing he goes out every week trying to muster up some type of work for the both of them made her feel foolish and ashamed for taking his boots. Even though they weren't legally married, he always treated her as a wife, sharing his gin, bed, food, and never laying a hand on her. Even when he was stupid drunk. She was lucky like that and she knew it. Other working girls had real husbands who would send them out to work, but then take their money, and beat them for doing it with other bloks to begin with. So, Cecile heading in to the first public house she saw, bought a pint of beer, and scooped out her first customer.
As the night drew in, Cecile wasn't doing half bad. She had 3 customers and each one of them also bought her a beer as well as her earned her a silver sixpence. Tired and blind drunk she headed out towards the docks to see if her beloved Harland was there. Harland was always "her beloved" when she was drunk.
RANDOM WRITE 2
Point of view in 2nd person Hans the chicken plucker
You wake while the sun is barely etching over the horizon, and even though your internal clock is set to 5:30am, its never easy. This is why you decide to sleep in your coveralls. Waking up already dressed gives you an extra 15 minutes of sleep. But that's not the only reason you chose to sleep like this. When you were a lad at the young age of 6, your grandpappy, (whom you were named after from the old country) told you this was how he slept. Grandpappy is your hero, always was and always will be, so trying to be like him is something you always strive to do. The only problem with sleeping in your coveralls is the feathers. They are everywhere. Placing your bare feet on the cold slates of dark brown wood sends a jolt of chills up your spine, waking you up more than a strong cup of joe. You look for the feathers to save you. Seeing a pile at the end of your bed, you use your big toes from each foot to create a pile and move them closer to you. Now you're able to stand up on the cold floor but the feathers are between your feet and that darned wood. Sliding your feet, careful not to lose any feathers from under you, you head towards the bathroom door. You keep your socks on the towel rack, just like grandpappy and once you've safely made it to them, you know its going to be a good day. If you had lost your footing, or lost some feathers while sliding to the bathroom, it would be a bad day. But today, you are going to have a magnificent day plucking chickens.
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