A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest Read Online Free PDF

'rob from the rich, give to the poor’ concept. After all, I'm a Democrat."
    "Rob from the rich?" Robin repeats, looking completely confused.
    "Yeah, you know," I say, scrambling to my feet. "The whole Robin Hood legend thing."
    "Lad, I tell you true, I know not of what you speak. Nor am I familiar with the name Robin Hood."
    I raise an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me you don't steal from rich people and give the money to the poor?" Did I get it wrong? Is he not the infamous outlaw after all?
    No, he has to be. He's Robin of Locksley. He's wearing green, he lives in Sherwood Forest, he has merry men. I've got to be right. Maybe he just doesn't want to admit it in front of me. He does suspect I work for the Sheriff, after all.
    "We are not thieves, no matter what the Sheriff might brand us. We forage from the land and keep to ourselves in the forest," Robin insists.
    "Okay. My bad. Never mind then."
    He fixes me with a stare. "But you have not answered my question. Who are you and from whence do you hail? You dress strangely and speak with the oddest tongue."
    Hm. How am I supposed to answer this one? And should I tell him I'm actually a girl? I mean, it would be easier to come clean about my rightful sex. Then again, I know nothing about this guy except that I think he might be Robin Hood. What if I'm wrong and he's really Robin the Rapist or something? That would be bad, to say the least. Better to hide the truth a bit longer, I think.
    "I come from a kingdom far, far away," I say at last. "The kingdom of... Hoboken. English is not my first language, which is why I speak it so badly." There, that ought to explain the American accent and improper Ye Olde English terms and phrases. I just have to hope he doesn't ask me to speak my native tongue or it'll be a lot of Leasepay ontday askay emay nymoray estionsquay.
    "And how did you find yourself in the forest Sherwood?" he asks. Phew.
    "I um, ran away. From... the church." The church was pretty powerful back then, right? They'd be someone you ran from. I still run from those Hari Krishnas in the airport. They wanted to make me an altar boy. Er, I mean, a choir boy. They—"
    "Made you a eunuch?" Robin gasps.
    Ewww. Isn't that a guy who got his you-know-whats cut off? Like what’s-his-name from Game of Thrones? What makes him think I'm one of those? As I remain silent, Robin adds thoughtfully, "A choir boy. I thought perhaps you were actually a woman. You stand tall as a man, yet have no hint of a beard. Your voice is fair sweet..."
    I decide to run with his suggestion. "Ha, ha, ha!" I slap my knee in hysterics over his ridiculous statement. "Me? A woman? That's a good one. How could anyone think I'm a woman? Ha, ha, ha!" I hawk a loogie into the river and let out a loud belch. "Nope, I’m about as manly as they come. Well, as manly as anyone who got his balls cut off by the church." I fake a dispirited look.
    Robin pats me on the back. "Indeed you are, lad, I meant no insult."
    Suddenly a scream cuts through the forest. Robin's body tenses and he motions silently toward the bushes. We dive in and take shelter underneath the thick overgrowth. I can hear my heart pounding as fast and heavy as the horses' galloping hooves. What now?
    Suddenly a young boy dashes past us, stopping at the riverbank. He can't be more than ten years old, barefoot and dressed in gray rags, with a shock of blond hair atop his head. He looks a little like Macaulay Culkin from the Home Alone era. Strapped to his back is a crude bow and arrow. His eyes are wide and frightened as he realizes he's trapped.
    The horses show up next. Coal-black steeds, three in all, that remind me of Black Beauty, Atop the horses are soldiers, each dressed in chain mail with a scary-looking sword strapped to his waist.
    One of the soldiers, the biggest and ugliest—(since we’re on Game of Thrones, think that Mountain guy)—urges his horse forward. He draws his sword and points it at the boy's throat. "It seems the hounds