Alana was an ant in this vast colony commonly known as New York City, ironically not an orderly place where people worked together. Survival of the fittest, that's what it is. Skyscrapers, buildings and smog fought for space of the sky, patrions with no manners skidding in front of oncoming cars, dealing with more important battles. Steam wavered deeply in the air, escaping from overheated and overcrowded resteraunts for fresh air. Venders of all trinkets and trades crowded the sidewalks with suave smiles and cunning salespitches. The sun was just rising above Time Square, the sun's rays calling the new day to official order, the glass of large buildings sparkling like diamonds, directing the sidewalkers to gaze at the rainbow of colors and smile. It was as if the sparkling was saying something in code: "Welcome to New York City, the most beautiful place in the world."

She felt so small standing next to buisnessmen and women hustling to work even though it was only the brink of morning. Her eyes were hit with the many wonders of New York City, the colorful billboards, the different cultures blending together like some opaque artwork, some melting pot. Her head turned from side to side gazing at all the spectacles, whishing she had an extra pair of eyes to view everything worth her attention. In the mist of her day dreaming about the place she'd read about in books and magazines, a blaring horn attacked her ears at a dangerous decible, a grey Buick inches from collision with her.

"What are you, stupid?" the old man behind the wheel brashly shouted from his window, his fist ready for battle. "Get a move on!"

Alana suddenly felt a hand creep onto her shoulder. She stiffened like a board when a guy's voice yelled from right behind her, "Chill, Man! She's from out of town!" The stranger shuffled her to the safety of the sidewalk after the driver grunted and rolled his eyes, squealing his tires and burning putrid rubber.

"Are you crazy, girl?" the guy asked with a small laugh to top it off, his black eyes wide with misconception. His spikey black hair praised toward the sky, his baggy black jeans dirty and loose on his thin tan frame. "That's how kids under 18 get killed while walking here."

"I am sorry," Alana responded with confusion, glancing at her possible death position on the grease-stained roadway. "I guess I was not paying proper attention."

The stranger's dark eyes narrowed as if to squeeze past her face into her mind, his hands tucked into his dirt-washed jean jacket. Pedestrians bustled past them as if they were invisable, only bugs inhabiting the cracks under their soles of the drab sidewalk. His thin eyebrows peaked at his forehead, rolling his eyes as if he's seen this before. "Runaway, eh?"

Alana looked at him bewildered as a sly smile eased on his worried face. "What can I say?" he replied with an earnest shrug, "It's a gift. I'm from New Jersey, myself."

Alana nodded shyly, her eyes skidding around him in fear. "I'm starving," the guy said, rubbing his hand in circles around his stomach, his head pointing toward the golden sun. "Let's get some food and talk......."

"So tell me," Sly urged, flecks of McDonald's english muffin clinging to the moist corners of his mouth. "Why did you leave home?"

"I could not take being there," Alana told him, shifting more comfortable in her blue chair, sipping at her warm orange juice, the noise of sizzling grills and stentorian chats almost unbearable to her ears. "Besides, my mother wanted to take me back home to Liechtenstein but I cannot go. I am in love."

"Isn't that sweet?" Sly asked with a thoughtful smile, stealing a bite of his greasy hashbrown.

"It is," Alana agreed, Matt's face flashing through her mind, butterlies beginning to circle in her stomach. I can't believe I act like such a jerk toward him, Alana thought regrettfully, How can I face him ever again?

"I'm sure your mother doesn't mean to make life so bad for you," Sly assured her like he had omniscient powers, powers that can fumble into her past with ease. "At least you have a mother."

Alana's interest was tied to that expression. "Where is yours?"

"Dead," Sly told her, his carefree face tightening in remorse, that word sounding like it lost its meaning because he said it so often. It was like she was "gone" or "somewhere else." He whipped the back of his hand across his mouth and stared into the distance, his eyes frosting. "She died 3 years ago. I've been on my own since I was 15."

"You have?" Alana asked astonisted, wetting her parched throat with more OJ.

"This isn't the life you want, Alana," Sly told her in all honesty as if his mission was to disabuse her from her ridiculois thoughts, his long fingers rubbing against the side of his styrofoam cup like it was a stress relief, his black eyed dulling in pain. "It's hard and lonely. I currently live in a homeless shelter, trying to get on my feet ever since I was left on my own. I have no family and probably no future."

She felt terrible about Sly's situation, a boy who isn't much of a man, only by age, being thrusted into a world of isolation and resentment without him having a say. "But without Matt, I will have no life, no meaning," Alana cried softly, tears bundling into her eyes. Sly smiled, comforting her with gentle taps to her outstretched arm.

"Do you think it's any better here?" Sly whispered, his voice smooth with consern as they both glanced around McDonald's. Young girls sat with their newborns, their faces too taunt and old for their ages, their babies youthful and full of sorrow piercing their ears. Old women sat alone, there eyes watery and melancholy, eating alone, the spirits of their husbands in the chairs across from them. Lost teenagers chatted with their lost friends, their piercings and hair dye trying to separate them from a world where everything was carbon-copied and plain. At the same time, they alienate themselves from people who are just like them in some way. A musician sat in the back, his head bobbing slightly to his CD player, his guitar case leaning against the wall his only love...ever. Lonliness seeped from their bodies like an poignant aura, grabbing tears and pulling them to her eyes' surface. "Do you see these people? They are utterly alone and you have a boyfriend and caring mother. Do you know how precious that is? Don't be so hard on them. How could you live alone without them? It's terrible, let me tell you. Sometimes, I wish I could just crawl into a hole and die. Even if that's an old cliche, it's the goddamned truth."

Her wronglful actions suddenly pounded her mind like a sledgehammer. Tears began to trickle down her face in tiny rivers, Sly's brutal truth conjoined the desolate faces of the patrions of McDonald's making her realize that her life is great, glorious compared to the Sly's of NYC. Besides, if her and Matt were meant to be, they could work something out, maybe even with her mom.

"How could I have been so moronic?" Alana asked herself aloud, her eyes wide in realization, shaking her head in remorse.

"I guess it takes a stranger sometime to help you along the way, eh?" Sly implored with a wide, white grin, slurping the last of his hot chocolate down his tepid pallit.

The thought that she had runaway in the dead of night with no note or innuendo of where she was going chiseled at her hopeful smile, the smile that this could all be fixed, slumping her head toward her leftover meal. "Who do I call? My mother will butcher me if she heard from me. Matt definately would not talk to me after I hurt him so."

"Do you know what she'd do if she lost you?" Sly answered matter-of-factly, thrusting his garbage in a local grey trash receptical. Alana's frown scratched deeper into her face, that notion slicing her heart.

They both rose from their seats and headed down the crowded flight of stairs into the busy world Alana wasn't ready for. The cars whizzing by churned her stomach, the acrid gas burning her nose and eyes. Sly was right, this isn't how to solve her problems. "I think you should call Matt," Sly suggested with a confident nodd, his hands placed firmly on his hips.

"What do I say?" Alana asked fearfully, pulling on Sly's denim jacket, her knees feeling weak. "I acted so stupid."

"If he's really your prince," Sly began, his hand rubbing at her face with the swipes of a father, comfort spreading from her heart to the rest of her organs, "He will come."