He saw a police spotlight sweeping over the ground next to the bridge he was under. Whatever. Same shit as always. It's not illegal to be homeless. They could fuck right the hell off. 

This had been Noah's "home" for quite a while, going on about three years now, he guessed. He was pretty well set up, for a street rat. He had "acquired" quite a few amenities and pleasantries in his time under the bridge. He had a mirror, a bed, a recliner. He'd pinched a propane stove and never lacked in canned goods, as they weren't necessarily difficult to come by. He even had one of those tiny battery operated televisions like in all those greasy restaurant kitchens in Queens, some fat "chef" in a wife-beater watching the game. Named...Lou, or something like that. In fact, he had been in a kitchen like that here in the city well over a few times, as "Fat Louie" shouting Italian obscenities at the whatever-the-fuck-ball game on his tiny TV set left the kitchen in prime condition for some surprisingly choice ingredients to be liberated. Then, of course, later he took the TV.

Of course, such a lavish set-up brought quite a lot of unwanted attention from other street rats, so he had to defend it quite viciously. He'd stabbed a man's hands together and sent him on his sniveling way. Broke a mans jaw with a can of chili. Then ate the chili. He'd carved out a name for himself in the underground as "the Wolf". He'd had to, to keep his home. Noah was a generally nice guy, but he could be damned mean if he needed to, which was often. Then, there was the gift, which helped. 

Noah perused some of his spices and canned foods, wondering what to fix up that night. He could crack open some chicken noodle and throw in some thyme, paprika, maybe a little--

"Hey!"

A flashlight. A cop. 

A real shitty situation.

"Hands up," said Porky the Pig, waving a gun around like he actually had the balls (or the cause) to use it on some rat under a fucking bridge. Noah covered his face quickly with a scarf. 

"Fuck you," he spat, turning to run...and face another jackass with a flashlight. And another. They rushed him all at once, slamming him to the ground, hard. He kept his hands moving so they had trouble cuffing him.

"The fuck am I under arrest for?!" 

A flashlight to the back of his head sent stars spinning.

[i]Ohhh, no. Fuck that.[/i] He smiled to himself. [i]Alright, three little pigs. Meet the Wolf.[/i]

He clenched his fists, and tightened all of his muscles. Took in one deep breath, and forcefully exhaled it as all three cops went flying, one hitting the ground, another Noah's mirror, and, alas, one destroying his tiny television set. All three were out cold.

"Bastards. Now I have to fucking move."

He began to walk off, spitting on one of the officers, stopping himself to load up some of his canned goods and stove, a few utensils and a small soup pot in an old backpack he'd held onto since high school.

"AND find a new fucking TV."

He kicked him in the head and shuffled off.