One of the things about small towns is that there is a steady stream of people who are moving to a small town to get away from the hassles, crowding, crime and much worse that can typically be found in abundance in the big cities.
George is one such recent transplant to the Nutjob Hills area. He’s not quite the typical immigrant however. You see, he’s not just your average nine-to-five guy trying to get his family into a safer, less expensive place to live. He’s a former biker.
Apparently he’d been riding with a motorcycle club of some repute for well over fifteen years. Over the years he’s seen quite the increase in violence and the general hazard of being involved with such a group. For example in recent years gunfire has become a lot more common and he’d even taken to wearing Kevlar Motorcycle Jeans in an effort to keep himself from becoming yet another statistic with all the bullets flying around.
Lately he’d spent a lot of time thinking about how much fun he used to have and isn’t having now, along with the rather steep increase in just how hazardous it was to keep going the way he was and decided to chuck the whole thing and move to a small town. Someplace where you didn’t need bulletproof gear in order to walk around safely.
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