DISCLAIMER: I do not own Naruto, even though I would treat the characters better. And if I did, you would all know.

Deidara knew he was in trouble when he couldn't afford his Whopper (no onions). He stood at the counter, fumbling with his wallet, but no matter how much he dug, he was still twenty cents short. The cashier's double chin got redder and squishier as he waited impatiently for the dumb blond to magically pull an extra twenty cents out his ass.

"Dammit," Deidara mumbled. He patted his front and back pockets. Nothing. But the chic behind him was entertained for that brief moment.

He looked at the cashier's squinty black eyes with his own ceil one. He grinned sheepishly. "Uh, can I pay you back later, hm?"

The fat man's eyebrows twitched. "You could get out," he spat. "Dumb blond …"

Deidara frowned. "I heard that, fatty!"

"I'm not fat; I'm big boned!" the man said in his defense.

The "dumb blond" smirked. "But bones don't jiggle, hm."

"That's it! Get outta here!"

Deidara scooped up the two hundred forty-nine pennies he had piled on the counter and put them back in his sack. "Whatever, I'll just take my business elsewhere." He turned, head held high, and marched right on out of that Burger King like the dignified hobo he was.

The sky was a soft blue-violet and warmly-hued clouds swirled around the barren mountains the sun was setting behind. A picture perfect scene, it was. The air was still cozily warm but smelt like smog. Well, Vegas wasn't perfect.

Deidara sat on the sidewalk, back to a street light, and watched impassively as SUV's and BMW's sped by. A little cardboard sign was lazily strung around his neck. He perked up when a couple smokin' redheads jogged toward him. He plastered on his lady-killer smile and slyly bet they couldn't hit him with a quarter.

The girls laughed, shook their heads, and jogged right past him and across the street. Deidara tsked at them but then self-consciously rubbed his cheeks in case five o'clock shadow was creeping in. It was. Very well then. He instinctively reached into his pants pocket for some clay before realizing he had used up the last of it two days ago in an attempted assassination against Charlie Sheen.

Deidara resorted to fiddling with his bangs. As narcissistic as this sounds, he always did think the colour of his hair was one of the most beautiful variations of blond. It was naturally, literally the colour of gold and seemed to sparkle in the right light. He tightened his half pony tail and ran his hand through it to detangle it. At least he still had that to be proud of.

He sighed. Yawned. Stretched a little. The usual. Unlike his rival hobo, Hank, whose territory was the sidewalk parallel his own, Dei didn't need to stalk up and down the pavement. He didn't need to hold up his sign and coyly smile at each and every car that had to wait for the green light. Usually people just came to him, probably amused by the fact that he was surprisingly clean and neat. Of course, that was also the reason they never gave him money – he wasn't convincing enough. Real hobos had to be grimy, bearded, sweet-hearted Christians. Dei, the exact opposite of that, was quite tired of that offensive stereotype.

So he was creative. The sign he had read, "Obama ain't the only one who wants change." It was clever enough, but all that gave him was $2.49 every day. Actually, now that he thought about it, quite creepily he always reaped $2.49 every day. And he used that on cigarettes.

"Speaking of cigarettes." He pulled out the pack he got yesterday and lit one up. He coughed. He only started smoking just a couple weeks ago – damn Hank.

As Dei lay there, calmly smoking and thinking deep thoughts, the gaunt manager/clerk of Butt Drugs convenience store/pharmacy left work. Butt Drugs, despite its name, did not specialize in butts, drugs (the illegal kind), or drugs meant to be up butts. Its name was part of the reason Dei chose this particular corner as his home. Dei went in there once to check it out; the only worker there, it seemed, was stereotypically Indian and spoke with a heavy Hindi accent. It was hate at first sight.

Anil, the Indian guy, was polite to Dei as he was to all his customers. However, all that blond did was complain about the store's "misleading" name. Misleading indeed! Because of the commotion he was causing, he politely asked the boy to leave. "Why don't you learn to speak English, hm? I can't understand your accent!" the boy had snapped. That's when Anil officially banned Dei from the store. Unfortunately, since Anil walked to and from work, he usually had to cross paths with that blond anyway.

Anil gave Deidara his customary glare as he walked up to him. Deidara glanced disinterestedly at him and puffed some smoke, returning to his field of paper - no, clay flowers. Anil furiously jabbed at the button and tapped his foot as he waited for what felt like an eternity for the signal. He stood on the other side of the pole so the blond wouldn't even be in his peripheral vision.

"Hey," Deidara suddenly said.

"I refuse to look at you," Anil gruffly replied.

"You got any spare change?"

Deidara looked back when no reply came. Anil had already crossed the street.

"Whatever, hm."

The sky went from lavender to violet to dark blue to black in no time. Deidara, using his sack as a pillow and his black jacket as a blanket, curled into a barely visible and insignificant ball on the sidewalk. He faced the brick wall. Since the street was on a slope and Deidara's corner was at the top of it, the wall got taller and taller as you went down. Babies fall asleep watching monkeys and moons slowly spin over them to a gentle lullaby; Deidara, gazing at that wall. It was his companion. His only companion.

Night was the only time he wished he had his own bed to lay in, or even just a futon so he wouldn't have to deal with hardness of the dusty concrete or the water bugs and such.