DeeperWater
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Apr 30, 2011
- Posts
- 257
Name: Dillon Tyler Abbot
Age: 24
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 175 lbs
Build: lean, but well defined
Hair: brown, messy
Eyes: brown
http://hippieracer.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/jared-padalecki.jpg
Dillon weaved his cab through the traffic of downtown Philly with easy. He had grown up on these streets, and knew them all. For out of town drivers they were a nightmare. One way streets would lead into other streets, which were one way in the opposite direction. Many times you had to make three or four turns, just to move in a straight line.
His cab smelled a bit of the Marlboro's his cousin Daniel smoked, when it was his shift, but Dillon didn't mind. He had smoking in the seventh grade, but gave it up when the track coach started to buckle down. Still, the familiar smell was a comfort. A small Celtic cross hung from the front mirror and classic rock drummed out from the radio.
He tapped along with the Eagles, and he turned down the side street, which lead the cab lot. His shift was almost over and the morning light was hurting his night owl eyes. Dillon had been on duty for the past twelve hours and was looking forward to heading back to his room at the Dalton Arms (a semi-respectable flea bag motel) and crashing.
He was wearing a red hoodie, over a green Philadelphia Eagles t-shirt. A pair of worn blue jeans hugged his runner's legs and a two ratty, but comfortable, high tops were on his feet. His brown locks were a good three months past due for a hair cut and a two day grown of stubble had formed on his face. It didn't matter though, because Dillon didn't really care what people thought of him, as long as they paid the fair.
Dillon had been driving the cab for his uncle for two years now, after getting out of the a stint in the army. His mother had begged him to go to community college, or to do just about anything, but drive a cab. His father and his grandfather had come from a long line of Presbyterian ministers, and she had always thought that Dillon would follow in their footsteps. Unfortunately, Dillon was ADHD and never had the desire to buckle down to an academic lifestyle.
He had grown up in the rich, Mainline area on the R5 track. His mother taught at Rosemont College and his father was pastor of a small conservative church. He had rebelled though, and started drinking and smoking from a young age. He lost his virginity at age fourteen, under the bleachers at the local high school, to a girl three years his senior. Whenever he could get some money together, he would catch the R5 downtown and hang out with his Uncle Sal, his mother's brother. His father's people were of Scottish extraction, but it was the rougher Italian side of his family that attracted him.
In high school, he had been but on probation a few times, and finally a judge told him it was the army, or jail. He choose the army, and it save his life. The discipline that was force upon him stuck. Some he went in with got more into drugs the longer they were in the service. He clean up his act, joined AA and took back some control of his life. As soon as he was out, his Uncle Sal offered him a job which Dillon jumped at. The unpredictable nature of the job worked well with his personality.
On the morning our story begins, Dillon was passing down the last street to the lot, an alley that was not yet lit up by the rising sun, when someone ran right out in front of his cab.
Age: 24
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 175 lbs
Build: lean, but well defined
Hair: brown, messy
Eyes: brown
http://hippieracer.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/jared-padalecki.jpg
Dillon weaved his cab through the traffic of downtown Philly with easy. He had grown up on these streets, and knew them all. For out of town drivers they were a nightmare. One way streets would lead into other streets, which were one way in the opposite direction. Many times you had to make three or four turns, just to move in a straight line.
His cab smelled a bit of the Marlboro's his cousin Daniel smoked, when it was his shift, but Dillon didn't mind. He had smoking in the seventh grade, but gave it up when the track coach started to buckle down. Still, the familiar smell was a comfort. A small Celtic cross hung from the front mirror and classic rock drummed out from the radio.
He tapped along with the Eagles, and he turned down the side street, which lead the cab lot. His shift was almost over and the morning light was hurting his night owl eyes. Dillon had been on duty for the past twelve hours and was looking forward to heading back to his room at the Dalton Arms (a semi-respectable flea bag motel) and crashing.
He was wearing a red hoodie, over a green Philadelphia Eagles t-shirt. A pair of worn blue jeans hugged his runner's legs and a two ratty, but comfortable, high tops were on his feet. His brown locks were a good three months past due for a hair cut and a two day grown of stubble had formed on his face. It didn't matter though, because Dillon didn't really care what people thought of him, as long as they paid the fair.
Dillon had been driving the cab for his uncle for two years now, after getting out of the a stint in the army. His mother had begged him to go to community college, or to do just about anything, but drive a cab. His father and his grandfather had come from a long line of Presbyterian ministers, and she had always thought that Dillon would follow in their footsteps. Unfortunately, Dillon was ADHD and never had the desire to buckle down to an academic lifestyle.
He had grown up in the rich, Mainline area on the R5 track. His mother taught at Rosemont College and his father was pastor of a small conservative church. He had rebelled though, and started drinking and smoking from a young age. He lost his virginity at age fourteen, under the bleachers at the local high school, to a girl three years his senior. Whenever he could get some money together, he would catch the R5 downtown and hang out with his Uncle Sal, his mother's brother. His father's people were of Scottish extraction, but it was the rougher Italian side of his family that attracted him.
In high school, he had been but on probation a few times, and finally a judge told him it was the army, or jail. He choose the army, and it save his life. The discipline that was force upon him stuck. Some he went in with got more into drugs the longer they were in the service. He clean up his act, joined AA and took back some control of his life. As soon as he was out, his Uncle Sal offered him a job which Dillon jumped at. The unpredictable nature of the job worked well with his personality.
On the morning our story begins, Dillon was passing down the last street to the lot, an alley that was not yet lit up by the rising sun, when someone ran right out in front of his cab.
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