Another showing of the hand

Still not sure if I like the way I'm presenting my main charactor. Lemme know if this is a good set-up if you're watching.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That is perhaps why Marcus was so upset, why the thought of topless women had more effect on him than meeting someone claiming to be your guardian angel. The brain that worked so well as a cave-man has no other use than to act upon instinct. Why, as he moved down those creaking steps he didn’t count the floors to the building, didn’t think of how to fix his car, didn’t think of what to spend his tip on? Because at that time in his life, his true culture was dead. When culture dies humans become like animals, only looking to mate, then die. A sad existence, even for an animal.
At the bottom of the steps he inspected the orange coupon I had gave him and said “Minute Made” as he read the company name on the front. Black and white cartoon Maid carrying aloft a hot pizza as she strangely sprinted across the lettering. Pushing his hat back down over his eyes he pushed the glass door on the veranda of the stairs and got into his rusty little dream, and noisily started up an took off down the road away from the eatery on the corner you know, but always forget.
Miskatonic was a changing town as of late, which mad Marcus’s drive back to his generic little pizza store all the more difficult. Main throughfares became blocked by construction of huge faceless condos that sat somewhere between hundred year-old Victorian gambles and old brick storefronts that were places of commerece and entertainment the old town once had. If you looked close enough, past the beige modern brick that sought to eliminate the past, old walls still had hoover, victorilux, and dairy logos pained upon the old brick over half a century ago. Bars still had beer signs hung in the seventies. Don’t look too closely thugh because orange road barrels and chain-link fence jutting into the road marking the newest dissimilar affront to the past will jump out at ya which Marcus deftly swerved around on a daily basis on these roads.
Miskatonic is a town you can go from one end to the other in less than 40 minutes, but its dense populace and urbanite setting made it feel like aq much larger city than it was. One third of it’s people were students and the other two thirds were people who had become so settled into the city that they were a conglomeration of old names and families that only were separated by the students who had stayed in town to put down roots. I am not a native but I still feel that this place is home to me, and I’ve been here long enough to recognize the surname Graves and know that Marcus was a townie, through and through, and even if he was able to escape the gravity well this town’s reality has, he would always be and never escape being a citizen of Miskatonic.
Marcus in fact was the last male Graves left here. His only living relatives were a sister who lived in a quiet little neighborhood far from the downtown with her husband, and a sweet and cranky grandmother who lived not very far from the home he grew up in. Marcus lived alone, save the few friends who came over, in the home he grew up in, without his parents, who died and left him in a car accident five years prior.