The leather collar of his newly bought jacket felt soft against his neck. He touched the supple skin and smiled. He had always wanted a jacket like this.
His teenage self had never longed to be with it, hip, cool.
Psychedelic – never. Just wasn’t him.
Even then he felt different. He had that reputation.
The Wild Ones. Brando
The rebel. The maverick. Kerouac. On the Road.
The last person that anyone expected to join the Air Force.
His first solo flight had proved him right.
He settled the jacket against his shoulders and strode towards the flower painted bus.
Sweet.