Stepping off the bus in Southside, Chicago a man stuffed $1,000 down his leg inside a black-ostrich skinned cowboy boot and also placed a folded piece of paper into his back pocket. He looked around and gave a condescending glance at those inhabitants around him, letting out a giant scoff he pulled out his pack of Winston cigarettes and lit one up. Having remembered a few pages he had been reading out of old journals during his travel he showed off an eerie smile and began to speak for anybody that bothered to listen. 

"Chicago, huh? Boy, what a fucking dump. I bet Chicago is Potwatomi for nobody cares. The cities motto ought to be turn back around. I mean, who wants to be apart of this rinse and repeat cycle of death and destruction that comes with the territory?"

The comedian locked eyes with a dapper looking man in a suit

"How about you, asshole?"

TheLoopCL seemed a bit taken aback from the comments coming from this slowly decaying man, but even he couldn't argue, or tell one of his chronies to shoot at this man as he was as unprotected as your mother was the night your father made possibly his biggest tragedy. 

"Not much to say? I didn't think so."

WitheredComedian looked TheLoopCL up and down, trying to get a gauge on him. He was a natural at this, he had been reading crowds for so long now. TheLoopCL had the same fancy suit and bodyguards as the other leaders around, but, something still just felt OFF. 

"Yeah, thanks but no thanks Chicago. I'll be traveling elsewhere looking for an opportunity to get my feet wet in the life of crime."

Reaching into his back pocket WitheredComedian pulled out that piece of paper he had placed there and gave it a look over.

I am broke and done with comedy. Not sure where I might end up, but anyways I gotta go. I think I hear them towing my house.

P.S. "There's worse things than being broke, but I can't afford to find out." Please send money for the stamp.

The man placed the note in an envelop and sealed it shut, pivoted and made his way back to the same bus stop he had just gotten off at with hopes of making his way to the top in a new line of work. 

Walking down the sidewalk on the Streets, Shane could hear lots of sounds and see lots of people, a contrast to the farm life he was accustomed to in Texas. He was walking this day and something caught his eye.

He spotted a man wearing a pair of black cowboy boots, worn in and scuffed. You could tell a lot about a man by his shoes, but boots told a story. Shane approached the man, tipping his own cowboy hat as a greeting.

”Hello there,” Shane said to the man, “That’s a nice pair of boots you’ve got on if I might offer the compliment. Say, what’s your story sir, if you’re got a minute?”

Something about this man was interesting, a good vibe.