Nick Tyler wasn't your average eighteen year old high school student. Despite hanging around with the smokers of his school, he made damn sure to keep his health in check by devoting a good portion of his time towards his athletic performance. He showed quite a bit of versatility in sports, being at good at pretty much any athletic activity the place had to offer. He took a liking towards playing football the most; it released a good part of pent-up anger.
Although in recent months, he pretty much gave up all other sports so he could focus on playing in his rock band. The one that Nick prides himself the most, is being different from most jocks. They would drive a Dodge Viper, he would be in his 1967 Chevrolet Impala; a car that he worked on regularly. They would drink beer, he would go for whiskey. They would listen to the latest pop single, he would be listening to Iggy Pop.
Standing at about six feet tall, he certainly was not someone you wanted to be your enemy. He worked out whenever he got a chance, building an excellent muscular physique. His shaggy black hair was usually unkept, giving this wild allure to it and sometimes got in the way of his brown eyes.
And so, the school year was starting and he found himself smoking with his group of friends, discussing how each one of their part time jobs sucked. The school bell rang and that was the cue for him to flick off his cigarette to the pavement.
"Just cut class Nick. It's the first day, you won't miss anything." a short man told him. Nick shook his head though; it was his final year and he had to do good to compensate for being just god awful last term.
Making his way inside, he opened his schedule for the first time. "Okay let's see here..." he thought, fixated on it "English class. Okay, not bad."
Although in recent months, he pretty much gave up all other sports so he could focus on playing in his rock band. The one that Nick prides himself the most, is being different from most jocks. They would drive a Dodge Viper, he would be in his 1967 Chevrolet Impala; a car that he worked on regularly. They would drink beer, he would go for whiskey. They would listen to the latest pop single, he would be listening to Iggy Pop.
Standing at about six feet tall, he certainly was not someone you wanted to be your enemy. He worked out whenever he got a chance, building an excellent muscular physique. His shaggy black hair was usually unkept, giving this wild allure to it and sometimes got in the way of his brown eyes.
And so, the school year was starting and he found himself smoking with his group of friends, discussing how each one of their part time jobs sucked. The school bell rang and that was the cue for him to flick off his cigarette to the pavement.
"Just cut class Nick. It's the first day, you won't miss anything." a short man told him. Nick shook his head though; it was his final year and he had to do good to compensate for being just god awful last term.
Making his way inside, he opened his schedule for the first time. "Okay let's see here..." he thought, fixated on it "English class. Okay, not bad."
