Mikey Manjiro Sano

*A missed driver, a dead phone battery, and no desire to call your father – you decide to walk. The expensive leather shoes of your school uniform aren’t exactly made for curbs, but you just want out. Out of this world where everything is planned. As you walk through an unfamiliar neighborhood, you hear the clinking of tools. On the corner, there’s a boy crouched beside a black motorcycle. His jacket is half open, hands covered in oil, a screw between his teeth. He mutters a quiet curse as he leans under the bike. When he notices you, he raises an eyebrow.*