As Cyrus Valdez, who's dusty spectacles magnified his glare, walked along the dusty road, he observed the familiarity's of filth, grime, and poverty. Same shit, same fucked up day he thought to himself, a glint of sadness overtaking him before he continued to trod on looking for work or food. Either would do. He could sleep in the desert but not on an empty stomach, working coming in the plight to fill a stomach. Promises like these were far in between completed or even honored, however he'd always taken a chance since he was 14 and on his own. It has been years ago in the Dakotas that he'd rough and tumbled his way working for rail ways and mills, working at the wharf's in Nashville, Tennessee and dealing with sewage in other towns.<br/><br/>He had lived a hard life indeed, yet now in the semi-aimless roaming in the dust bowl, the hard working Cyrus was feeling like his day could change for the better.<br/><br/>Something, more like someone, was calling him and many others.<br/><br/>Cyrus had also been one to come to the truck, taking off his hole ridden hat and tucking it under his arm. He hadn't had much on him at the moment, if anything at all; a rumpled leather bag swung over his left shoulder contained only the meager accessories collected from his travels from the South to the Midwest. He had only three shirts and a pair of pants to his name that he wasn't wearing, all of which had always been compromised or a part of attempted thefts, a flask full of water and a dirty notebook where he kept his thoughts, it's pages worn like the patina of his belt buckle. His clothes were dusty, a small crimson hankerchief around his neck slightly damp from his incessant sweating as the sun was surely blaring in the clear sky before him.<br/><br/>Looking over at the scrappy boy next to him, he smiled quickly and began to speak,"Evenin'... sure does look like an opportunity, huh?"<br/><br/>They seemed rather preoccupied in what the man on the truck's bandstand was saying, yet that was usually the case. Cyrus was listening as well, yet he couldn't seem to not make way for all of the other noises and attractions going on around him. He'd always been one to take in the environment, calculate it, and try to synthesize the brilliant in the bleak and unforgiving terrain he'd been occupying for nearly 3 years now.