Miles Kuroda had been a high-school bully who’d evolved into a small-time hood. He made sure to do nothing that would cause him to run afoul of the major gangs operating in Hawai‘i, always weaving his way into niche areas the bigger players bypassed.
If possible, Miles pulled each job alone. Rather than a crime family head, he’d become a kind of crime uncle. The unmarried one you vaguely remembered seeing at gatherings, hanging out on the fringe, drinking beer, talking to no one.
When you spend your youth making enemies, you find, if you do grow older, that fewer and fewer people will have anything to do with you. Rather than accept that you’re pretty much isolated because you were a bullying asshole, you fool yourself into believing you can get along fine by yourself. Your mantra is that you’re a loner who, you repeat, enjoys being alone.
Miles bounded to the third floor of his non-descript Kukui Street building. They were all beige. He wondered how often drunks came home and tried their keys in the wrong locks, as he had on occasion.
After dropping his Char Hung Sut manapua in the kitchen, he dove into the bathroom to examine his prize.
Under the fluorescent light, Rudy’s razor gleamed like a blade out of Arthurian legend. Miles touched his thumb along the edge using just enough pressure to feel precisely how it could slash to the bone in a flash.
Could he teach himself to shave with this?
* * * * *
Happy #WriterThursday, I hope you are safe and well. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece on you page and link back to me, or simply leave it as a comment below. I would love to read it : )