[size=small]<img style="Kenji" style="max-width:50%;float:left;" src="http://i741.photobucket.com/albums/xx53/VampyrHeart/Kenji_zps3cf30e58.jpg]Calling that day exceptionally hot wouldn’t make much sense in that wretched place, everyday was exceptionally hot, there was a generation who had never seen a cold day, they only knew hot and hotter, they had never seen snow nor walked under the rain, they were just stories from a past long gone, it might have never existed.
If not for the old books and magazines stacked in the corner of his old defunct trailer he calls home he wouldn’t have believed it as well, memories of a past long gone, foreign lands that can no longer be reached and those things they used to get there, what did they call them?... yes, airplanes, like that one plunged not so far from where he lived. He had always fantasized about going on one of them to his grandparents’ land, that place once called Japan, he even dreams about it, which is why he overslept that morning, but it could have also been because he was a little too drunk. He had no clue what it looked like now, but he longed for a life in the neon lights, the ones he saw in his old magazines.
He slowly opened his eyes, his side still hurt from last night’s fight, but it was worth it, at least for him, he managed to nab a bottle of that moonshine like alcohol some people brew, what was in that bottle, no one could tell, but he loved the feeling he got out of it, it made him forget the dullness of the life he lived, at least for a moment.
Kenji was born into a biker gang, so it was no surprise he was a biker himself, just as his parents were before him. His father, being of Japanese heritage, has kept a Japanese biker style and a heavily customized old bike, both of which he himself has inherited after his father was killed in a gang feud, his mother fled to the Desert Rose afterwards never to be heard of, and he replaced his dad as the mechanic/ electrician of the gang at the age of 15, it seemed a long time has passed since then.
He got out into the scorching sun, still yawning, it looked like the other members had already left without waking him up, it happened a lot, and today he didn’t particularly regret it, he only found the members on guard duty, and one of his wounded comrades who probably couldn’t ride that day.
<font color="#d86161]“Have any caravans passed today?”[/font] he asked, stretching his arms over his head, he was only hoping for water or other consumables that day “Nothing really worth it, we didn’t even attack them.” the man sitting on an empty barrel replied <font color="#d86161]“Pathetic”[/font] Kenji muttered, kicking a pebble onto the empty barrel producing a hollow noise. <font color="#d86161]“Nothing worth it, what kind of caravan is ‘nothing worth it’ eh?”[/font] he went on into a ramble, as he headed back into his trailer.
A bit later he was dressed up to his distinct pompadour (which meant he had to always find some kind of grease to hold it up with) and ready to leave, he didn’t have a destination, but he didn’t really care, his tank was full, and he wasn’t known for saving up his fuel when he got it, which was source to a lot of scolding from the older members, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. He had heard of a bigger caravan coming around and he was curious about how big it was, he just headed there without telling any of the otherrs, he didn’t know what he was accomplishing by doing that, but he did anyways. The sun had already set by the time he got closer, his old bike roaring, revealing his presence into the silent night.[/font]
If not for the old books and magazines stacked in the corner of his old defunct trailer he calls home he wouldn’t have believed it as well, memories of a past long gone, foreign lands that can no longer be reached and those things they used to get there, what did they call them?... yes, airplanes, like that one plunged not so far from where he lived. He had always fantasized about going on one of them to his grandparents’ land, that place once called Japan, he even dreams about it, which is why he overslept that morning, but it could have also been because he was a little too drunk. He had no clue what it looked like now, but he longed for a life in the neon lights, the ones he saw in his old magazines.
He slowly opened his eyes, his side still hurt from last night’s fight, but it was worth it, at least for him, he managed to nab a bottle of that moonshine like alcohol some people brew, what was in that bottle, no one could tell, but he loved the feeling he got out of it, it made him forget the dullness of the life he lived, at least for a moment.
Kenji was born into a biker gang, so it was no surprise he was a biker himself, just as his parents were before him. His father, being of Japanese heritage, has kept a Japanese biker style and a heavily customized old bike, both of which he himself has inherited after his father was killed in a gang feud, his mother fled to the Desert Rose afterwards never to be heard of, and he replaced his dad as the mechanic/ electrician of the gang at the age of 15, it seemed a long time has passed since then.
He got out into the scorching sun, still yawning, it looked like the other members had already left without waking him up, it happened a lot, and today he didn’t particularly regret it, he only found the members on guard duty, and one of his wounded comrades who probably couldn’t ride that day.
<font color="#d86161]“Have any caravans passed today?”[/font] he asked, stretching his arms over his head, he was only hoping for water or other consumables that day “Nothing really worth it, we didn’t even attack them.” the man sitting on an empty barrel replied <font color="#d86161]“Pathetic”[/font] Kenji muttered, kicking a pebble onto the empty barrel producing a hollow noise. <font color="#d86161]“Nothing worth it, what kind of caravan is ‘nothing worth it’ eh?”[/font] he went on into a ramble, as he headed back into his trailer.
A bit later he was dressed up to his distinct pompadour (which meant he had to always find some kind of grease to hold it up with) and ready to leave, he didn’t have a destination, but he didn’t really care, his tank was full, and he wasn’t known for saving up his fuel when he got it, which was source to a lot of scolding from the older members, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. He had heard of a bigger caravan coming around and he was curious about how big it was, he just headed there without telling any of the otherrs, he didn’t know what he was accomplishing by doing that, but he did anyways. The sun had already set by the time he got closer, his old bike roaring, revealing his presence into the silent night.[/font]
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