Sandy tapped his fingers on the dashboard of his posh BMW. He looked around the scruffy neighbourhood. Fresno was a far cry from Newport. The families here scraping by were a far cry from his beautiful wife and seven year old son, who were probably being served dinner by Rosa by now, in their magnificent mansion.
Sandy shook his head. It just wasn't fair, life wasn't fair. He had just dropped off a young boy of thirteen, who he would be defending for shop lifting. Shoplifting, at thirteen, maybe it wasn't such a far cry from Newport. But in Newport, the thirteen-year-olds caught shoplifting had mummy and daddy as a get-out-of-jail free card.
As Sandy pulled out of the driveway of his charges house, he noticed a commotion around the house next door. He got out of his car for a closer look. He was shocked at what he saw.
Two little boys, one looked to be about Seth's age, the other perhaps four or five, were trying desperatly to scramble away as a woman, clearly drunk, threw a glass vodka bottle after them. The older of the children pushed his terrified brother behind him and put up his arms in an attempt at self defence.