A toothy grin rode upon the young boy's face. Standing tiptoe, he approached an old shopkeeper. She was a crone of a woman; she'd smell a crook from a mile away. Friendly was a word that had never been used to describe her. As the boy neared her, she scowled. "Mornin' mum," He bowed to her in a less than graceful manner. "Ker' to spare an apple to a hungry child?" She watched him warily. Her hunched back forced her into a near leaning position, making him a good head taller. But that didn't frighten her in the least bit. As he reached for an aging apple, she slapped the back of his hand. He immediately recoiled, stumbling backwards. "Oi ma'am, what was the for?"

She narrowed her grey eyes. "Go on, git! I dun't need another mouth to feed." Her words pushed him away, causing him to fall into the sea of passerby. Each one was like him in the sense that they been forced to go without food. Poverty was written in the streets, but good old King George had turned a blind eye on his people. Poor fool didn't even care that his people were dying. While he sat up in his castle, feasting, people were literally dying in the streets. It was a shame that their government cared so little for them.

Brushing the dirt off of his clothes, Toby stared at the mass amounts of people. It had been so long since he had been out in the real world, he wasn't sure what to make of it. There was a sense of insanity that still hovered above him. It was very likely that it would never go away. But another part of him was able to grasp what was going on. The good half of his brain, as he called it, was still working. That didn't make life any easier. After being thrown from the gates of Fogg's Asylum, he didn't have anywhere to go. He was all alone in the world.

For a young lad of sixteen, he had seen a lot of evil in the world. It was unfortunate, but those were the cards he had been dealt. So he tried to make the best of it. Since his release, he had proclaimed his innocence to anyone who would listen. There were very few that would, but it didn't silence him. Just that morning he had spoken to a drunken sailor and they exchanged stories of the old days. It was a meaningless existence that lead him to wander the streets. He was a beggar; a half-crazed beggar who had nothing to lose.