[center][color=66cdaa][h1][b]Bob[/b][/h1][/color][/center]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/zJYlBVi.jpg[/img]
[center][b][u]Location:[/u][/b] Bayview-Hunter's Point, San Fransisco, USA
[b][u]Interacting with:[/u][/b] The Delivery Guy[/center]

[hr]

Robbie J. Thompson rubbed his hands together to get them warm, lugging his torn backpack around Hunter's Point. He looked solemn, his gaze downwards. Living in a sketchy part of town wasn't the best idea but Bayview was the only place that he felt comfortable with. The high murder rates and the amount of gangs that roamed these parts made him slightly uncomfortable but meeting those psychos in prison.... It was hard to make him scared at anything. His throat felt dry and his stomach was growling but he marched on, watching the people passing by. People walking on their phones, though considerably less people walked the streets compared to the rest of San Fransisco. When the newly reformed J Crewz and invading Triads are in a gang war, people backed off. Only the bravest (arguably most stupid) of people walked the streets along side those who have no choice.

To a former gangster, it was easy to see the different divisions in Bayview-Hunter's Point. It was mostly run by the J Crewz although Bob generally stayed away. They weren't the most welcoming of gangs and if any of them payed attention to their history lessons, they wouldn't hesitate to pull out a gun and shoot him dead. The second largest area were run by the Triads, coming from the general direction of Chinatown. He had no problem with them but they were still a gang. The words "8th Street Demon" was still a name that carried weight among those who remembered. And so he stayed in the smaller but significantly safer police controlled area of the neighbourhood.

Bob set up in front of a rundown development buildings, one of those projects that proved fruitless in Hunter's Point. It was a tall, imposing building with metal fences and such but he knew that it was abandoned. Graffiti was all over the walls and idiot "gangsters" put their so called mark on the territory. And so the police did what they couldn't do to the rest of this neighbourhood. They descended on the  gangs with righteous fury. It was slightly impressive how they can get rid of the upstarts so quickly. Sighing as his thoughts brought him back to his better days, he set his piece of cardboard on the wide side walk, dropping his backpack next to it.

The backpack was a simple thing but it was large and reliable. Bob sat down, cross legged on his card. He opened his backpack, picking out his blanket and harmonica. He gently placed the instrument next to him, wrapping himself in the blanket. He picked the metal harmonica up and placed it on his lips, playing the tune of Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash. He let the sounds of the outside world blur, letting his body do it's work. The music was lovely and it filled him with hope. He finished the song just as the man that would change his life came up to him.

The Delivery Man, not that Bob knew that he was delivering something, was obviously from outside of the neighbourhood. He looked visibly uncomfortable but tried to keep it cool, hiding it all under this cool facade. "Robbie J. Thompson?" Bob looked up at the man with kindly eyes, placing his harmonica to his side. He nodded, inwardly raising an eyebrow. "This is for you." He placed his suitcase in front of him before walking away, presumably to the black Volvo parked a block away, next to the police station.

The case was probably the most expensive thing that Bob had touched in a while. But he wasn't one to delay things and opened it up. He focused on the letter in the middle of the case, set upon a fine silk pillow. He would need to throw this away later, people would kill to get their hands on such an expensive object. He opened the letter and read what it said.

        [color=gold][i]Congratulations!
	 You are one of the lucky few that was picked to be the winner of this prestigious tour! You leave on March 14th from your city and will arrive in Paris on the 15th. There you will meet the rest of the winners at the Saint James Paris! You're accommodations are completely provided! Travel, fares, food, all are covered. On the 17th you will disembark from Paris on the legendary Orient Express for a tour of Europe and into the Carpathian Mountains! We cannot wait to see you, anything you need will be provided. A Black Status Card has provided for you to purchase anything you might need. I look forward to meeting you on the Orient Express.

	Sincerely,
	    Your Provider[/i][/color]

"[color=66cdaa]What the fuck?[/color]" Bob read the letter three times, making sure that he read every word correctly. Satisfied that his eyes haven't gone completely, he didn't know what to think. He had watched the news on one of the new television stores in Hunter's Point and heard about this Orient Express raffle. And he had been chosen. "[color=66cdaa]Well, I'll be damned. I'm going on a trip to Europe.[/color]" He mumbled quietly, smiling like an idiot. Robbie J. Thompson, former gangster crime boss and now homeless person, was going on the Orient Express. It sounded like some bad joke. He pocketed the letter in his intact pocket and began playing on his harmonica once more, playing to the tune of "I Feel Good" by James Brown.

Not before putting the card and tickets they gave him inside of his bag of course.