It was cold; the snow had just started to melt, which in itself was out of the ordinary because it didn't usually snow like this in Cheapside, London. A young boy by the name of Cole was picking his way through the centuries of garbage piled high beside the Thames by the generations of London dwellers before him. Being Cheapside born and raised, for all 10 years of his life, he knew where to look for the best stuff. Something for him to eat or sell so he could keep his body and soul together a little longer. He hadn't seen another person at any point in the evening, so what he wasn't expecting to find while sorting through the trash was a baby.
He looked at the boy, and the boy looked back at him. Cole figured he had three choices. One he could pitch the baby in the river, thereby eliminating the problem. He could leave the baby for someone else to hopefully find, thereby passing the problem onto someone else. Or he could keep the kid, try and deal with it as well as dealing with all the other bloody crap he had going on in his life. He put the baby down, intending to leave it, like he didn't have enough to deal with in the life of an urchin? As he walked away he heard a faint cry, the baby, not wanting to be put down no that he had been found. When Cole walked away, there was no baby on the ground.