[center][color=66cdaa][h1][b]Bob[/b][/h1][/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/zJYlBVi.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][b][u]Location:[/u][/b] San Fransisco, USA
[u][b]Date:[/b][/u] March 12[sup]th[/sup][/center]

[hr]

Bob had enjoyed the blank check as much as he could. Sitting in his room in the West Antin San Fran hotel, he was preparing for the trip of his life. Thinking back, he had never lived such a life of luxury. Buying a car, an apartment, refurbishing the Soup Kitchen, buying new clothes... Buying things that he [i]wanted[/i] and not needed. No damn essentials, just things he had always wanted in his life. Of course there were things he couldn't buy with money, he had long since healed from the wounds of Layla dying. '[color=66cdaa][i]Keep tellin' that to yourself old man. Yer not going to find it on this trip, the people you're with are too young, you're going to die alone.[/i][/color]' His own harsh words to himself no longer surprised him.

With no job and no true hobbies, all he had to do was walk and think. Just think. Thinking could kill a man, like it almost did to him. That's why he didn't think much after that, decades of letting life go in a routine. He had tried to get a job but people in the ghetto feared and reviled him for what he was and what he did. He dearly hoped none of the fellow winners knew him and only thought of him as some lucky homeless man. He had already thought of a good backstory. "[color=66cdaa]I think sayin' I'm just a poor old black dude isn't enough.[/color]" He muttered to himself, pacing around the room.

He had already packed up all the bags, his trusty backpack and harmonica was coming with him. Dressed in a formal tuxedo with tie, black polished shoes, solver wristwatch and of course, a rosary. He had never thought of travelling the world before and as he glanced towards the black card laying atop his one bag of clothes, he thought of stealing it. He shook his head and kept pacing around the room. He was done with that kind of crime. He was clean now.

'[color=66cdaa][i]Oh, the Irish girl. Heard from Don that them Irish women were real feisty.[/i][/color]' Bob's face turned from surprise to disgust, crushing the voice almost immediately. Fucking horny, his brain was. Even at fifty, it was still filthy with thoughts. Still, it would be good if he had the chance... to love someone again. His hand touched his face, wiping his damp eyes and cheeks. "[color=66cdaa]Damn it Robbie, you're going to die alone. Face the fucking reality. You're old and homeless. Who the fuck would care if you got new clothing? You're still a middle aged black dude from the worst ghetto in San Fran.[/color]" He scolded himself. He believed it, wholeheartedly. So why were his tears still flowing?