He stood at the gate, his thick muscles flexing beneath the fabric from the wind chill blowing through the thin material and into his bones. He shivered and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, as far as they would reach in the small pouches. His big knuckles not leaving much room in the tiny space. He pushed his head down and walked on as the gate opened and the guards hollered for them all to "Get the hell out of here," Other men shouted curses back at the guards, others laughed and took off aware of their freedom. A few ran into the arms of loved ones. He walked past them all, unnoticed, despite his enormous size.
He stood 6 foot 3, about 240 of thick, solid muscle, built through years of hard manual work and good genetics. He had always been a bigger man, but with nothing but time inside, he had nothing better to do but to workout. His solid rough form had turned chiseled and cut in the right areas. He walked, not entirely sure what the future held, but for now he knew only one thing: he needed a big fat burger and a shot of whiskey.
He had a small amount of money that the prison gave him before he left, along with one change of clothing and a bag. The rest he had to figure out on his own. Luckily, he had a friend willing to offer him a place to stay along with a decent job in a small construction business. He had no real family, just past memories of foster families that didn't care until he was old enough to be out on his own.
After that the bad choices were made one after the other until he ended up in prison doing 5 years for losing his temper with someone who had it coming. The coma hadn't been intentional, but attempted murder was the charge and so he did the time willingly and suffered through. Prison wasn't as bad for him, with size on his side. He had kept to himself and others left him be. He was ready to somehow fit back into society, he wasn't sure how that would work, but his main goal was to just stay out of trouble. He wasn't a bad man, nor was he a trouble maker. He was just dealt unfortunate cards that he didn't play very well. He planned to keep his head down, find a place, and make some money and from then on, who knows. He had no love, he had to peace, he just had his life, which wasn't much.
He walked for miles, the cold nothing but a minor annoyance at this point, as the daylight turned into dusk, the snow began falling, the wind chill dropping and the side of the road freezing. He could see the town ahead and dredged on.
He opened the door slowly and walked into the bar, the smell of fried food and spilt beer blasting his face, entering his nose, filling his lungs and making his mouth water. Several heads turned in his direction; eyes widened, and then quickly looked away, afraid of his reaction. He was used to that, people being afraid of him. He was an intimidating character. His size was cartoonish and abnormal. He belonged in the freak show as The World's Strongest Man, or in the wrestling ring on television. He kept his eyes down and made his way to an empty barstool. He set down his bag gently, his muscles relaxing in the warm heat of the building. He shifted his massive frame on the stool, his feet resting on the floor. The bartender asked him what he'd like and he ordered his burger and alcohol.
He stared at his hands, looking at the lines in his palm. He watched his fingers flex, as he closed his fist and re opened it. He ran his left hand through his dark beard and rubbed his jaw. He hadn't realized he had it clenched while he was walking, it was feeling sore now. He left his hand resting on his face and let his elbow lean on the counter, looking deep in thought, though thinking of nothing. His food came, he devoured it in minutes, though relishing in the taste of a burger; he hadn't had one in years. It filled him up fast. He chased the burger down with the shot of whiskey and asked for water. He would have ordered more, but his money supply was limited and he had to be smart. He gulped down the water, waiting for his ride.
Half hour or so later, a hard slap came down onto his back, that sort of thing would make almost anyone flinch, but he only turned his head to look. Standing there was he his old friend, biggest damn smile on his face, arms wide open for a hug.
"You big basturd!" Greg yelled, loudly. Max stood, towering over his friend and leaned down, picked him up and squeezed. "Ugggh!" Greg groaned, feeling the air squeeze out. Max set him down and held out his hand, to shake.
"How ya been, man?" Max asked, his deep voice, low and heavy.
