jediPREZ
Shadowboss
Ocean Beach, San Francisco – September 4, 2004.
“When a majority of your country is driven by the dollar, its amazing to see how mindless and malleable the society becomes.”
Craig Miles stood by the J Muni stop, a slight fog floating over his head. Partly sunny skies glimmered off of his silver sunglasses as he exhaled a ring of smoke from his Newport.
“They believe their government.”
Miles wasn’t talking out loud, rather the voiceover accompanied the scene. Why explain this? Because in our world, its just better that way.
“They believe their corporations.”
Miles zipped up his hoodie as the train arrived, flicking his cigarette to the ground before boarding. As he walked in, he didn’t seem surprised to find it empty – the beach stop being the first and last on the route, depending on your direction. The doors closed and Miles remained standing near the exit, looking out the windows.
“After all, how do you raise your 2.5 kids? Face it, we’re a society defined by nothing more than meaningless numbers and politically correct values. So much trust placed in an institution that regards itself with no honor or class because in the end, or the beginning…”
The train stopped …
“Our government wants money. Always has, always will.”
As people filed into their seats, most of them took a double-take in Miles’ direction. Quite apprehensive about a man his size with that many cuts and bruises on his face, not to mention the stench of cigarettes and alcohol.
“What’s worse is that every politician must convince these brainwashed masses that it’s he who can improve the economy, or in other suitable circumstances, just say he believes in Jesus. Of course, those in power claim both. After all, majority wins…every time.”
Another stop…
“What does it have to do with me?”
More people filed in, keeping their distance…
“I’m not mindless.”
A few people whispered to each other, obviously staring at Miles…
“I’m not ****ing brainwashed.”
Miles turned his silver sunglasses in the direction of the intrigued with a devious smile, their eyes immediately darting to the ground, while their faces blushed. Miles looked around the whole section of his train, eyes quickly averting contact.
“The government set a strategy and most businesses adopted the model. Fool them into believing your platform, worry about the consequences later.
The train stopped once more, a horde of people walking on as Miles slid through the middle of the rush and through the exit. He briskly walked past people, heads turning towards him with wide-eyed stares. Miles lit up a cigarette, while jogging down the escalator on the left side as a single file line stood stationary on the right. In the distance, you could hear someone say “You can’t smoke here!”
On the lower level another train waited with its doors open, Miles flicking his Newport away with some slackjawed stares in the background. Just as he entered the train, the sliding doors closed behind him. Jetting off into an underground tunnel, Miles places himself in a similar position from the last train.
“You ask yourself questions trying to figure out my logic, but understand this: Because I am not brainwashed like most characters – I don’t work with a system.”
“I didn’t become a wrestler for money.”
“I don’t do this for the titles.”
The train started making that underground scream, nothing outside the windows, but blackness. Yet, Craig seemed interested in the scenery. At least, it was better than paying attention to the annoying chatter from two middle-aged woman seated across from him.
“I did it because I wanted to take something as mindless as this sport and turn its violence into my own artful expression. X = change & evolution.”
“Disney threatens this…”
“Chad Merritt threatened this…”
The train stopped and Craig Miles left briskly, walking towards an escalator and running upwards.
“Where there’s free will, there’s always a way…that is what I fight for…that is what my war is about.”
Miles walked past a sign reading MacArthur Station, a train stop in the heart of Oakland, California. As Miles exited through the sliding doors, he stopped immediately as he got outside to pull out his cigarette box…
“No smoking in the car, chief.”
Miles’ head swiveled around with a smile, coming face to face with ‘The Wolf’ Mike Randalls.
“Y’know, Keith would’ve let me.”
“Well, unlike that scrawny piece of ****, I can kick your ass.”
“When a majority of your country is driven by the dollar, its amazing to see how mindless and malleable the society becomes.”
Craig Miles stood by the J Muni stop, a slight fog floating over his head. Partly sunny skies glimmered off of his silver sunglasses as he exhaled a ring of smoke from his Newport.
“They believe their government.”
Miles wasn’t talking out loud, rather the voiceover accompanied the scene. Why explain this? Because in our world, its just better that way.
“They believe their corporations.”
Miles zipped up his hoodie as the train arrived, flicking his cigarette to the ground before boarding. As he walked in, he didn’t seem surprised to find it empty – the beach stop being the first and last on the route, depending on your direction. The doors closed and Miles remained standing near the exit, looking out the windows.
“After all, how do you raise your 2.5 kids? Face it, we’re a society defined by nothing more than meaningless numbers and politically correct values. So much trust placed in an institution that regards itself with no honor or class because in the end, or the beginning…”
The train stopped …
“Our government wants money. Always has, always will.”
As people filed into their seats, most of them took a double-take in Miles’ direction. Quite apprehensive about a man his size with that many cuts and bruises on his face, not to mention the stench of cigarettes and alcohol.
“What’s worse is that every politician must convince these brainwashed masses that it’s he who can improve the economy, or in other suitable circumstances, just say he believes in Jesus. Of course, those in power claim both. After all, majority wins…every time.”
Another stop…
“What does it have to do with me?”
More people filed in, keeping their distance…
“I’m not mindless.”
A few people whispered to each other, obviously staring at Miles…
“I’m not ****ing brainwashed.”
Miles turned his silver sunglasses in the direction of the intrigued with a devious smile, their eyes immediately darting to the ground, while their faces blushed. Miles looked around the whole section of his train, eyes quickly averting contact.
“The government set a strategy and most businesses adopted the model. Fool them into believing your platform, worry about the consequences later.
The train stopped once more, a horde of people walking on as Miles slid through the middle of the rush and through the exit. He briskly walked past people, heads turning towards him with wide-eyed stares. Miles lit up a cigarette, while jogging down the escalator on the left side as a single file line stood stationary on the right. In the distance, you could hear someone say “You can’t smoke here!”
On the lower level another train waited with its doors open, Miles flicking his Newport away with some slackjawed stares in the background. Just as he entered the train, the sliding doors closed behind him. Jetting off into an underground tunnel, Miles places himself in a similar position from the last train.
“You ask yourself questions trying to figure out my logic, but understand this: Because I am not brainwashed like most characters – I don’t work with a system.”
“I didn’t become a wrestler for money.”
“I don’t do this for the titles.”
The train started making that underground scream, nothing outside the windows, but blackness. Yet, Craig seemed interested in the scenery. At least, it was better than paying attention to the annoying chatter from two middle-aged woman seated across from him.
“I did it because I wanted to take something as mindless as this sport and turn its violence into my own artful expression. X = change & evolution.”
“Disney threatens this…”
“Chad Merritt threatened this…”
The train stopped and Craig Miles left briskly, walking towards an escalator and running upwards.
“Where there’s free will, there’s always a way…that is what I fight for…that is what my war is about.”
Miles walked past a sign reading MacArthur Station, a train stop in the heart of Oakland, California. As Miles exited through the sliding doors, he stopped immediately as he got outside to pull out his cigarette box…
“No smoking in the car, chief.”
Miles’ head swiveled around with a smile, coming face to face with ‘The Wolf’ Mike Randalls.
“Y’know, Keith would’ve let me.”
“Well, unlike that scrawny piece of ****, I can kick your ass.”