Name: Michael James
Age: 28
Height: 69 inches. Five foot nine to you civvies out there.
Weight: 158..on a good day
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Usually keep it clean shaven, at the moment it is about three inches long…brown. Prolly wont be keeping it much longer though. Too damned hot herebouts. Appearance: I aint a big fella. Pretty little actually. Most folk think I am under 130. Solid…compact. I got tattoos…too many to sit and list off. Not too much bare skin left. All there for a reason…purpose. Stories if you will. Got a mean look to me some folk say…a crazy glare to my eyes. Who knows.

A bit about me. I was born in the Southern part of West Virginia. Typical hillbilly redneck. Grew up rough. Fighting…growing dope…making shine. Ya know…cutting edges as much as possible…never had much money. Still don’t, though we survive. I spent my whole life surviving, living off the land. Grew up with guns…bows, you name it. I could use it. Always liked shooting. Got in a lot of trouble as a kid, breaking and entering, selling pot, trafficking drugs. A few assault charges. My family though they were always there for me. Stood up for me. The way it was.

Well I turned 17 I used the Delayed Entry program and joined the Army. Why? Deep down there was that patriotic sense of duty. Much of my family had been in the service even gave their life on foreign soil. I owed them that much. Again, back to the Family. I always had a thing for guns and explosions. Made more than a few homemade pipe bombs and such growing up. The Military is the only job you get paid to carry a gun, and get the chance to kill someone. Always been kind intense fella I have. I like the rush. I don’t need no hard drugs. I get scary. Pot though, it calms me down, always has.

Anyway…I joined the military. Airborne Rangers. I gave it my all, like I do everything. Went for the Gold. I was a member of a special platoon of Rangers…we worked off the grid…off of radar. We slipped in back doors…took you by surprise. I was Afghanistan. I lost my virginity so to speak there. We were up to our necks in it. I learned what war was all about. I got my fucking rush I did. After that. Shit got bad in Iraq. Yup, I went there too. Volunteered, twice…I was there when it began…and through the first near to being two years. Baghdad such a friendly place. I changed there. Seen a lot of things, did a lot of things. Such is life

I am out now. Have been for over a year. When I was in, I made a lot of friends, a lot of connections. I started buying, and selling guns. I was careful though. I knew how to stay off the grid. Did it for years.

When I was on leave, during the breaks in my tours in Iraq, I went to New Orleans, before the big storm. Mardi Gras. That is where I met my gal. I believe in Fate. Things are meant to be. She was dressed as Ginger then…on a Gilligan’s Island float. We met later…and within the next three days, we were married. She was eighteen.

Now, we are here in Texas…in a trailer park. With our dogs. One big happy family. Me and the gal, we are friendly, neighborly folk, until you rile us up, and piss us off. I got a nasty temper…I enjoyed what I did in Iraq. It grows on you it does. Kinda fucking scary. Though, it sticks with you, nags at your conscience. It is there to stay.

We live in the last trailer in the park…near an old abandoned lot. Which I own too. Friendly folk we are. Just holler afore ya come in the yard, Make sure none of the dogs are loose.

Who knows, we might make some friends, have some good times. We like play with others from time to time. Though kinda picky we can get.