If I had to describe the Mojave in one word, I'd say: draining.

I know, I know. You were expecting me to say "hot" or "shitty", and yeah the Mojave is all those too. But if there's one thing, and I bet the entire wasteland is willing to agree on, is that the Mojave is draining.

It's like some big, dusty, malnourished, dick-shaped leech with a bad liver that just sucks everything out of you. I've seen quite a bit of soldiers come here with hopes and dreams and leave with empty pockets and a couple odd infections.

Not like there was anything better to do back at home. It was just as bad. Difference was, at least the people and places were a hell of a lot more familiar in the NCR.

My mom was a servant for some rich lady back west. Never really figured out what she did for that lady, but if she was a "servant" like they got out here in the Strip, then my old lady must've been damn skilled at her job if she was bagging those high class ladies. You can say my mom played for the opposite team.

She'd bring friends from work home every once in a while. What a generous woman right? That's where I got my first taste of a woman. Not from my mom, no. I mean from her work friends. They'd come home, knock back some whiskey, rip a little jet, and then sit around doing whatever dykes do when they're fucked up. One of them decided that I looked delicious and had her way with me. No complaints here. My mom's fucked up, so-called co-workers were the only real tail I ever had besides the whores here in Vegas. Wasn't exactly a lady killer growing up, or now for that matter...

I wish I could say at least my father had a cool job but he was a pushover who worked a desk job at some Crimson Caravan office. He was a "Crimson Caravan Caravan Logistics Coordinator", redundancy and all. From what I could tell he had a spreadsheet that he stared at all day and somehow made enough sense of it to know which caravans were going where. I worked there for a couple weeks as a kid as a gopher but I got fired for stealing Nuka-Colas.