Moving In

Thunder roared, echoing off the buildings, as a huge Harley Davidson made its casual way down the street. Riding the massive bike was a man dressed in faded leather with his dreadlocks pulled back from a sun-darkened chiseled face by a blue bandanna. Black sunglasses hid his eyes as he turned into the little parking lot behind the building he'd be calling home now. He let the bike idle in the parking stall, growling like a pissed off Rottweiler. After a moment he turned the bike off and secured it before walking up to the non-descript door that opened onto this tiny parking lot. He slipped his key-card into the slot and pulled the handle when it buzzed. He made his way up the stairs, pulling the sunglasses off and tucking them into a pocket as a huge yawn cracked his jaw.

At the door on the second floor, he slipped his card into another slot and turned the knob when it buzzed again.

Huge shadowed shapes dominated the condominium. They hulked in the dark like monsters waiting to pounce. A flick of the switch next to the door turned the monsters into stacks of boxes. At least the movers were on time, he said to himself. He dropped his keys on the nearest flat surface and went looking for the mattress. What a long fucking day, he grumbled silently as he pulled the pillow-top onto the floor. He stripped to his boxers as quickly as his exhausted limbs would work and nearly collapsed onto the make-shift bed. Immediately, he fell into a deep sleep. The boxes could wait. Sleep could not.