Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)The college nieghborhood was getting seedier and rougher every year, it seemed. Around the college itself was fine, but a half mile out, the strip along 83rd street which used to house coffee shops and restauarnts now had shops selling drug paraphenelia, gang clothing and the people hanging out -from the kids to the young adults, were harder, many of them not only looked ready to kill, but willing to demonstrate it. Several times a night police cars would cruise the street to make an arrest, and on the worst nights they would be accompanied by Aid Cars taking people to the morgue.
Every evening at 4:45 John Nerble would turn down 83rd street and walk hunched inward down and walk down the street his eyes looking everywhere, but never looking at any one. His posture hid both his height and build, which was 6'1" and 190lbs, he wore a non-descript baseball cap to hide his blonde buzz-cut. He wove in and out through the crowds, but no one thought he was afraid -in fact, no one thought much of him. And this was his intent.
He had been raised by a fanatical ex-marine who, for as long as John had been alive had been convinced that the government would collapse at any day, and had trained John in a variety of martial arts and military skills. John had wanted none of this, had thought his father insane and the first chance he got he made a break for the city. At 19 he had his first job stocking for one of the last, and largest used bookstores in the nieghborhood -a job he loved because the quiet days allowed him hours to loose himself in books, and the nieghborhood held no fear for him, even the nights when he worked late, leaving at 12:30am and going back the way he came; danger either didn't see him, or stepped out of his way.
Every evening at 4:45 John Nerble would turn down 83rd street and walk hunched inward down and walk down the street his eyes looking everywhere, but never looking at any one. His posture hid both his height and build, which was 6'1" and 190lbs, he wore a non-descript baseball cap to hide his blonde buzz-cut. He wove in and out through the crowds, but no one thought he was afraid -in fact, no one thought much of him. And this was his intent.
He had been raised by a fanatical ex-marine who, for as long as John had been alive had been convinced that the government would collapse at any day, and had trained John in a variety of martial arts and military skills. John had wanted none of this, had thought his father insane and the first chance he got he made a break for the city. At 19 he had his first job stocking for one of the last, and largest used bookstores in the nieghborhood -a job he loved because the quiet days allowed him hours to loose himself in books, and the nieghborhood held no fear for him, even the nights when he worked late, leaving at 12:30am and going back the way he came; danger either didn't see him, or stepped out of his way.