First rule of living on your own: Realize that stability in this world is never guaranteed. If you fail to adapt to the changing times, you won't be finding a easy way to keep your belly full, and sometimes, you just have to swallow rat poison to survive.
Second rule: Don't go around trying to change an old-timer's mind. If you force them out of their old ways, they won't hesitate to pass judgment on you the ancient way.
VROOM!
The thunderous roar of a classic chopper split the desert heat, its rubber tires grinding a reptile skull into dust against the scorching black asphalt.
Just then, a street racer caught up to the old-timer.
"Woo-hoo~! Hey, pops! How about a little drag race for some cash?!"
A young kid with a glowing neon skull tattoo called out a greeting. His ride was modified into a bizarre, twisted machine that looked as if it had broken out of a superhero blockbuster.
HONK-HONK!
The ear-splitting horn shrieked through the wind, prompting the old man to give a sharp gesture with his hand sliced across his ear—Not a chance.
"Aw, man~~~ No fun at all! Catch ya later, then! WOO-HA-HA~~~!!!" The young speed demon hollered, twisting his throttle and zooming past the old-timer.
The old man cranked his throttle wide open, pushing toward his destination, a small town heralded by a worn roadside sign: Santa Escorpio
The outskirts were lined with old-fashioned livestock ranches completely void of modern tech, where barren soil was staked down by massive, churning oil rigs.
As he rode into town, the old-timer zipped past a police cruiser at nearly 70 miles per hour.
WEE-WOO~
Third rule: There's always bound to be lawmen coming around to bust your chops.
Hearing the siren u-turn behind him, the old man throttled down and pulled over in the middle of the road. He stepped off his ride, the iron spurs on his boots letting out a menacing, heavy clink the moment his leather soles hit the pavement.
CLINK!
The old man looked up at two police officers stepping out of their slick, futuristic squad car.
"Afternoon, officers," he greeted with a polite, even tone.
"Morning to you. You know you and your rusty old bucket were doing well over 70 back there, pop?" The heavy-set officer crossed his arms with a sour scowl, while his younger partner walked around to inspect the motorcycle.
"Hmm~" The old man raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? My old bucket doing over 70 miles an hour, huh? Heh. Man, if I had eyes like yours, I'd be a human radar. Don't know how a fine officer like you got divine vision while I'm stuck with regular eyes. Besides, officer, I... uh..."
The old man trailed off, turning back to look at his bike. As the rookie officer spotted a hidden camera mounted to the front frame, he flinched.
"She might be old, but my bucket here keeps a steady record. Clocked me at a clean 67 miles per hour all the way. And I just can't figure out for the life of me..." The old man took a few steps closer to the heavy-set officer. Up close, the fifty-something-year-old stood at a towering 6-foot-5, nearly doubling the lawman's height. "...why mathematicians like you always round me up to 70-plus. Or maybe you just don't take kindly to dark-eyed folks like me? And last I checked, officer... you ain't in California."
The old man grinned, leaning down to stare straight into the officer's eyes from above.
"Ahem! Let me see your driver's license, please."
Hearing the order, the old-timer flashed a smirk and pulled his license from his pocket.
"Cops are sure getting a nice to Black folks. Heh-heh-heh." He chuckled softly.
After running his information, the officer handed the card back and bid the old man farewell. "Welcome to Santa Escorpio, Mr. Stooge."
The cops retreated into their cruiser and drove off, leaving the town behind.
The old man casually peeled the fake name label off his driver's license, tossing it aside. "Got a thousand more names where that came from. Hmph."
Fourth rule: Always have a contingency plan for a lawman's dirty tricks.
The old man let out a sly smirk, mounted his chopper, and rolled into the deceptively peaceful town.
"To the folks at the top, the law ain't nothing more than a coin toss—a two-faced coin they can flip whenever it suits 'em. History's been repeating that same damn story since the beginning of time right up to the present. Only nowadays, the big shots barely even bother hiding the flip anymore. Long as money rules the world, they hold all the cards. Their mouths are like black holes, constantly sucking the blood out of common folk while the poor starve and suffer without a drop of mercy.
"But hey... the past is the past~ Can't go around fighting or changing things on that scale when the old era's been dead and buried for a long time. Still, if they rob us, we rob 'em back. If they cheat, we cheat 'em harder.
"Only difference is... they hide behind their rules and regulations. And we don't."