His leather jacket fit snug and wearing it was like walking with an old friend. He received several compliments as he traversed the unfamiliar landscape of the posh neighborhood. It grated on him that those same types of people would have said he looked like a thug a few years ago. A woman with a black, leather bag decorated with studs asked him if he had gotten the jacket at Sam Gutoski.
“No, I didn’t get this fucking jacket at some chain boutique bullshit. I got it at a motherfucking garage sale and put the motherfucking spikes on it myself.”