Notice: The following story is fictional. Any resemblance to any person living or deceased purely coincidental.
Chapter One: From Small Town To Neon Nights
You're nobody till somebody loves you...The music was like syrup leaking underneath the kitchen door outside The Bellagio. In the alley he listened to the words crooned by another anonymous lounge lizard from wherever while a slick orchestra carried those sweet words into the ears of drunken orthodontists and coked up podiatrists from around the United States. All converged upon this spot in the desert to forget-just for 72 hours-the dull reality of life. And here he stood. Six foot plus (at least that's what his discreet ad read)of rock solid muscles. Wavy hair atop his head, and a ruggedly handsome face that made the local chicks back in Syracuse put out in the back of that 73 Cutlass Supreme like bees at a honey fest. He smirked. He still had it. He was sure of it. Like the time he carried the football into the end zone five times that Saturday and won the Regionals. He didn't like what happened at the State Finals the following week, so he didn't think about at all. Ever. He looked nervously at his watch. A Rolex. Well, damn close to a real Rolex. A Rolex if you want it to be. Just a few more minutes and the client would be there. He hoped. Sometimes they didn't show. Been happening more and more lately. He shook off the negative thoughts and tried to get pumped up again. That's what it's all about anyway. Getting pumped up and staying that way. And with his pecs and biceps, he was going to stay that way a damn long time. Christ, the guys he grew up with had one foot in the grave already. He didn't look nearly Fif-, Forty Four...
