AN: This is just kind of a short introduction to see if this would be the kind of story that people would be interested in. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with, but I have a vague idea and will do my best to make it worth reading.
He sipped his drink slowly. A migraine was beginning to form behind his eyes and he began to rub his temples in a circular motion. His life had become a never ending merry-go-round. When he drank he was filled with nostalgia for the year when he was seventeen and his name had meant something to this town. Now, five years later he was nothing. When he was sober, which was becoming very rare these days, he was all too aware of that fact. So he drank, he remembered, the headaches came, he fell asleep, woke up and did it all over again. He was working down at Shimmy's Auto Repair, but he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to hang onto that gig. He really didn't even give a shit anymore, anyway.
In those days, he had been Ace Merrill. His car was fast, and his women faster. He had had friends. Eyeball Chambers, his right hand man, Billy Tesio and Charlie Hogan. A few others. It didn't matter now though, because they were all gone. He had no friends. He had no girl. He drank alone. And these days, everyone just called him John. He did still have his looks, though. At least there was that, he thought. He placed the money for his drinks on the bar and sauntered outside in his hood's strut. He struck a match and lit a ciggerette that had been tucked behind his ear. A slight drizzle had begun while he was inside.
"Shit." He muttered to no one but himself. He had no jacket or any other form of refuge from the rain. Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped out onto the sidewalk and began the walk home.
The next morning, he awoke with a start. He looked around his bedroom. It was small, cramped, and dirty. He was sick of this life. He wanted to take his life back. Take his goddamn name back. He wanted to be Ace Merrill again. He would take back what had been stolen from him five years ago, by four tired boys who had no idea what they were getting into. That was when things had begun to turn sour for him.
He sat up on the edge of the bed, his bare feet dangling off onto the carpet. He wore nothing but a pair of grey skivvies. He rubbed at his face. He needed to find Eyeball. He hadn't spoken to him in almost three years, but he knew that if anyone could help him, it would be Eyeball. Billy was married now, with a bunch of snot nosed kids. Charlie Hogan had died in a car crash back in 1962. He had lost track of the rest of the gang. The boys who called themselves The Cobras back then. It seemed as if it had been one million years ago. On another planet.
Ace had big things in mind, though. People would know his name again. They would fear him, and also, respect him. He had to get moving though. There was no time to fuck around.