Chapter 1: Mickey

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   Black, long hair sat on the shoulders of tough Michael Ride. He always had a 5 o'clock shadow and a weed behind his ear that he never smoked. The boy never liked the idea of weeds. His ma used to smoke and died of lung cancer last year. I guess he just uses it as a symbol of strength or some kind of awareness. Who know? We jus' don't bother questionin' it.
  His ma called him Mickey because he reminded her of his Pops who ran off without a trace. It wasn't anything bad, I mean, the gal loved him and his old man. Mick's father just took off and never came back. Michael says she just wanted her Mickey around and so, he inherited the name.
   Mick is twenty-years-old. He has long, black hair that reaches his shoulders and a large pair of guns. His perfect, white smile is contagious and hard to flip upside down. The man has struggled enough as it is and still manages to smile through rough times. Mickey is tuff. A tuff guy. I look up to Mickey.
   Mick is alright to me. He's like a pa and wants me to stay in school and work hard for what I deserve. He's always got some tuff thing to say. And when he's not bein' no soft peach, stay away. Mickey can be protective and cautious. He'll bug you, but when you bug him, you're cruisin' for a bruisin'. That's just the way Michael Ride is.

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