Rest, Reset, Repeat.

Look son, I'll be the first to admit… 

I got my sweet country ass kicked. 

I know that for two reasons. For starters, when I finally woke up, the referee made it clear that I absolutely lost definitively. He was a bit aggressive, if you ask me, but he even tried smelling-salts on my half-breathin' ass and still couldn't get me up. So, even though the two smacks across the face were also aggressive, I recognized that there was still a lot of show left and finally regained some sense of half-cocked consciousness. 

Needless to say, when I finally managed to cart my aching shell to the back, I waved off medical and went to hide in my dressing room. After taking a freezing shower, I sat my naked-ass on the floor of the bathroom and… I cried, man, and I ain't less of a man for that, you hear me? 

Fact is, for at least that moment, I didn't know what the hell I was… 

A loser, I reckon - but I don't do quite well with that. It was bad enough that I miscalculated my jump and everyone had to watch me land in New York City's floating garbage can. I also foiled my first opportunity at redemption, at the hands of a boy who is years behind me in life. 

And maybe that just means I'm too old for this shit, but you just give me a couple of days to get the Harley Walker groove back, just a few days to hang this tired head in shame, and then for a boy like Adam Ellis, he'll think that he never left the high school wrestling circle jerk that he belonged to! 

Just a couple days is all I need, alright? 

Whirling Winds Bed and Breakfast Foster, Rhode Island 

For most of Harley's life, most things have either been under exaggerated or over exaggerated. In this instance, a couple days essentially meant until the twelfth hour before ReVival 44. For Harley, it was always important for him to feel comfortable wherever he was traveling. The entire concept of touring the country wasn't necessarily alien to him, but it was something that he hadn't done in a long time.

Therefore, Harley made it a point to arrive in Rhode Island fashionably early. This allowed him enough time to hop around to the local bars, get himself into something incredibly foolish, and even possibly find a date - or dates - for the evening. When he finally crossed into Rhode Island however, something inside of him said that a behavioral change was due.

Maybe it was time for him to slow down a bit, concentrate on this brand new horizon, and take the sober train to see if he even liked that person anymore. So, instead of taking a trip to the bars first, he decided to visit the hotel that he was supposed to be staying at - right center in Providence, a picture-perfect bed and breakfast that sat comfortably on the coastline.

Harley steps through the automatic-sliding doors that lead into the hotel lobby and is immediately greeted with a banquet table that's filled with doughnuts, various pastries, and pitchers of orange juice. Harley half-grins at the orange juice, trusting that this was a sign of a sharp, sunny day, puts down the duffel-bag that preserves all of his belongings, and begins to pour himself a glass. As he begins to take a sip, the hotel receptionist approaches him.

Mind you, Harley has just finished a three-plus hour trip saddled on Prudence, his one and only stuntcycle. There's dirty streaks covering his face, and various pieces of tiny debris dangling like Christmas tree decorations from his scraggly beard. He looks homeless and at least a little dangerous toward someone that's attempting to run a business.

"Hello there!" The receptionist greets, clasping her hands together and batting her extraordinarily large eyelashes. "That…" She points at the glass of orange juice in Harley's hand. "Is some darn good orange juice, isn't it now?" 

Harley looks down at the orange juice without much emotion, then swallows down his mouthful and nods.

Harley Walker: "Damn good. Squeeze in house?"

"I'm sorry?" 

Harley Walker: "I was saying… do yall' squeeze the oranges in house?"

"I don't think so. I believe it's Tropicana? It's free for all of our visitors. So… were you planning on staying here?

Harley gets the hint pretty quickly before putting the glass down on the table.

Harley Walker: "Yes ma'am. Reckon I'm one of them professional wrestlers. Well, I just started being one I guess, but you know, in a way I've always been a daredevil so… the shoe kind of fits. Time to set sails towards something fresh and sink the chompers into something that's fulfilling before the walls come down and the lights go out. You know what I mean?

"I'm sorry…" The receptionist seems pained to have to admit this. "I don't. I don't have any idea about anything that you're talking about unfortunately. We do have pretty stricts codes when it comes to loitering, I'm afraid to say…"

Harley pulls out a cigarette that was tucked behind his ear and lights it up without hesitation. The receptionist opens her mouth to let a gasp out, but it's stifled when Harley continues yapping.

Harley Walker: "I ain't loitering, ma'am. My name is Harley - Harley Walker? Got a big ole' wrestling event going on and I'm supposed to be shackin' up in your neck of the woods." [Harley lifts his cheap sunglasses up, leans uncomfortably close toward the receptionist, and squint-reads her name badge.] "..Jasmine, I take it? Looks like they put a "Y" instead of a "J",

The receptionist attempts to clear her throat of its second-hand smoke invasion. "No no, it's… correct. My name is Yasmine. So Jasmine, but with a Y. And I'm so sorry, I'll go check reservations to take care of that, and you really aren't supposed to smoke in here."

Harley stares back at Yasmine the Receptionist dumbfounded. He side-eyes a massive NO SMOKING WHATSOEVER. THIS INCLUDES VAPING sign that most definitely greeted him right before he went through the automatic sliding doors next to it.

Harley Walker: "What if I lit it after I was in the lobby? Like, it's already lit. What are you expecting me to do?"

Internally, the receptionist is now beside herself. In fact, she is now questioning whether or not this is reality, or if she may have had a stroke before coming to work today. Regardless, she tries her best to keep conflict obsolete.

Yasmine: "Um, so, unfortunately the rules apply for the entire inside space of the building. You just can't smoke at all here, I hate to say, and that's from the moment you enter to the moment you leave."

Rules be damned, no one has ever questioned him breaking such an arbitrary one. If anything, Harley just assumed that people didn't bother him when he decided to smoke in other public facilities because they had better things to do. In this case, Yasmine the Receptionist clearly did not have better things to do.

Harley Walker: "You know how much these little bastards cost now, don't you? No consideration on the cost front, especially to a paying customer of one of your bedrooms and at least one of your breakfast-ses?"

Incredibly pressed at this point, the receptionist opens her arms outward.

Yasmine: "We appreciate your business, Mr. Walker, believe us when we say that - it's just… if you want to go out to the parking lot to the smoke deck?"

Harley Walker: "You know what, sweetheart? I'm gonna do something just for you - I'm gonna put this cigarette out. Just know that I don't like it. A big PRIME star like myself and not a single exception."

Yasmine: "Oh, PRIME!? I saw that they were coming around here. A few people that were staying here last month said they had bought tickets to come back for this show. Haven't seen them since, unfortunately. I just love that Paxton Ray - man what a looker!"

Harley Walker: "Probably because…" [Harley spits in his palm and puts his cigarette out. As you can imagine, this causes Yasmine to tense up and wince.] "You don't let people smoke in here. And yeah, Paxton - top notch kid right there. Anyways, I've got myself quite the headache and a Guiness World Record case of the runs. Can we see about that reservation please ma'am?"

She tries to suck down some relatively clean air before nodding her head and escorting him over to the receptionist desk. Once she sits down and begins typing on her computer, Harley gets distracted by a shelf of old magazines. As he's looking, Yasmine inquires further about his stay at the hotel.

Yasmine: "Mr… Harley Walker - W-A-L-K-E-R, is that right?"

"Mhm" Harley says as he picks up a PEOPLE magazine from 1996, with Courtney Cox from Friends on the cover.

Yasmine: "Mr. Walker, I hate to be the bearer of further bad news…"

Harley Walker: "Oh come on… then don't be a bearer then, sweetheart."

Yasmine: "I know. It's just that… I am not seeing any reservation for you. Are you sure you're at the right location?"

Harley Walker: "The hell you mean wrong location? This is exactly where they told me to go."

The receptionist cocks her head to the side as she attempts to gain more clarity.

Yasmine: "And if you don't mind me asking, who's they?"

Harley Walker: "For crying out loud, PRIME for God's sake. The PRIME people, you know? I don't know who they are. [Harley shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.] I don't network like that. Look, all's I know is that I'm supposed to have a bed and a breakfast right here. And to be honest, it's exactly what I needed before I walked into another wrestling ring with someone who's young enough to be my goddamn son and will almost certainly send me to the hospital. But it's like…"

Yasmine attempts to interject to keep things on course.

Yasmine: "Okay, let me just see here…"

Harley just continues to rant.

Harley Walker: "What do you do? Do you just keep swallowing up the pain and the shame? Do you just keep washing it down with Jack, or Jim, or Jane, or whoever the hell, and just hope it passes? Naw man… no, you get up and you fix what fucked you up to begin with. You correct the flaws that let your little wet dream, Paxton Ray, rake me over the coals like I was his rent-a-bitch, and then you go whip the ass of some triple-A wrestling chump that's young, dumb, and far too full of—"

Yasmine: "Mr. Walker!" [Yasmine raises her voices in an attempt to get Harley to stop. This time, Harley's brain is re-routed back to her.] "I am not seeing any reservation with your name on it, nor any sort of authorization from any establishment that confirms that this was where you're supposed to be staying.

Harley doesn't like this one bit, but deflates before getting angry. Yasmine tries her best to, once again, alleviate as much conflict as possible before she has her third nervous breakdown of the day.

Yasmine: "Is there… perhaps someone you can call?"

A very defeated Harley closes his eyes.

Harley Walker: "Ain't got no phone, ma'am. I don't do numbers - but I am telling you that I'm supposed to be at this hotel. You know what this is?" [Harley gets a burst of energy and sits up.] "It's the underdog syndrome. They don't give two shits about the little guys, and this is the kind of shit that we've got to deal with. You know what I bet? I bet Adam Ellis has got himself a place to stay. I bet that little shit's had himself a nice, hot shower, and his own pitcher of orange juice. I bet you anything that he ain't been told that he isn't welcome - I bet they've done the whole open-arms treatment for a guy like him, but an underdog piece of scumbag, roadside dog crap like me? Ha…"

Yasmine stops to simply take a look at Harley, a man that was clearly down-on-his-luck and reaching deep for some kind of redemption, and then bites her bottom lip as she considers what her options are. Harley lets out a huff, and then picks up his duffel bag before moving towards the sliding doors.

Harley Walker: "Have an evenin' ma'am."

Yasmine: "Wait. It's none of my business, you know, but… where are you going from here?"

"Shit…" Harley says under his breath before gazing down at his boots. "Wherever the damn road takes me, I guess. Amica Mutual in Providence is my first stop."

Yasmine: "Right, the big event. Is that Adam Ellis? Is that… the person you're fighting?"

Harley looks up at her and nods with a half-smile.

Harley Walker: "It's a big, big world - and for the first time in a long time, I'm kind of a small fish. It's sort of a pain in the ass, but… I reckon these are the stepping stones towards better days."

Yasmine: "Adam Ellis is…"

"A stepping stone." Harley finishes her sentence before sliding the un-lit cigarette between his lips and tossing the frayed strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder.

Yasmine: "So, I'm not one to allow this - but my manager is on vacation for the week. She has a master suite on the second floor, just to the right at the end of the staircase behind you." [Yasmine rummages around a drawer attached to the desk in front of her and pulls out a key.] "As long as you're able to keep it as mess-free as possible, I will let you stay there until tomorrow once you've made alternative arrangements."

Harley looks back up at her in surprise. "No shit?" 

The receptionist clears her throat before awkwardly smiling and offering up the key.

Yasmine: "Look… you seem like you need a little break. I've been through it myself. Just go ahead and get yourself some rest - between you and I, okay?"

Harley looks around, as if he was about to commit a terrible crime, and then starts nodding with approval.

Harley Walker: "Yeah… some rest. You know what, I think I'd like to take you up on that offer, Jasmine."

Yasmine: "It's Yasmine."

Harley Walker: "No doubt. The only other question is…"

Harley drops his bag on the floor, rests his elbows on the desk, and leans in toward the receptionist with about as flirty of eyes as you'll ever be able to see on a thing like Harley.

Harley Walker: "How's to say you and I get a drink, you know, when it's clockety-out time?"

The next morning… Whirling Winds Bed and Breakfast Foster, Rhode Island The Master Suite 

 

1. A floor littered with empty room service platters and endless bottles ofevery bottle of liquor that bar service had to offer - Check. 
2. A television once mounted on a wall, now dangling by two wires, with a blow-up swim tube dangling off one of its corners - Check. 
3. One broken window, a lopsided mattress that's dangling off the boxspring, and the bare buttcheeks of another lucky evening for Harley - All check. 

Jasmine, in fact.

Sorry, Yasmine.

On the opposite side of the room, Harley is sitting at a kitchen table that is covered in cigarette butt and flakes of weed. While clipping his fingers to yet another cigarette with one hand, the other scoops up a spoonful of Corn Flakes and milk from a soup pot.

Suddenly, his eyes catch a ferret slowly walking across the suite - a cute, red leash still attached to its tiny collar. As of this very moment, Harley doesn't remember anything that happened beyond what the live portrait in front of him represents. He most definitely didn't remember a ferret - but that wasn't the point.

The point is that even at his lowest, dirtiest, grossest - Harley still has balls made out of Mike Tyson's teeth.. It didn't matter that he lost miserably to a younger, much cuter version of himself. It didn't matter that PRIME didn't think to make sure that his reservation was set in stone instead of potentially leaving him stranded on the side of the road for all of the Rhode Island Expressway methheads to have their way with him.  -

Because for Harley, these are nothing but challenges.

And in this brutal ass life, in order to make it to that gravy train with biscuit wheels, you better understand that victories are impossible with a few failures along the way.

While Harley sits in that chair and stares at that uppity receptionist whose name had escaped him, with nothing but a dirty cowboy hat on, he starts to realize that this battle wasn't meant to be just one fight. It was going to be a cluster of them.

But this was everything he could ever want.

[Phone Trilling]

Remember, Harley doesn't have a cell phone. This trilling is coming from an actual telephone - it's attached to the wall beside the front door of the suite and directly behind him. Harley groans, because he hates talking to people, tosses his spoon back into soup of milk, and reaches his arm backwards for the phone.

Harley Walker: "Who's this?"

A raspy voice with a Northeastern dialect responds.

"Harley?" 

Harley Walker: "Says who?"

"Oh yes, right. Sylvester Mango. Or Sly, for short. Harley Walker, I take it?" 

Harley takes a puff of his cigarette, and then tosses the butt into the milk. After getting up from the chair at the kitchen table, he waddles over to the bed and lightly taps on Yasmine's bare leg to try and get her to wake up. He walks over to the open window, with just that cowboy hat on, and takes a gander at all of the delightful families in the pool below.

Harley Walker: "I don't know no Sly Mango. Should I?"

Yasmine starts to wiggle around in the bed, propping herself up with her elbows to have a look at around at the brand new dimension she's in all of a sudden.

Sylvestor Mango: "Judging by the night you've just had, and what the general expectations are out of you moving forward now that, you know, you're a big time wrestling action star, I think you'll find my services rather convenient."

Yasmine is now sitting up, becoming more and more troubled by what reality has served her on this sharp, sunny morning.

Yasmine: "What happened?"

Harley glances at her for a second, before walking back over to the kitchen table to grab his wallet. He opens it up and starts thumbing through the cash inside of it.

Harley Walker: "Look buddy, I don't who you are. I don't know what you are and I don't why you are but the thing is, I've got my hands full right now and places to be."

Sylvester Mango: "Providence. Amica Mutual. Adam Ellis, right?"

Harley stops in the midst of pulling out a few 20's from his wallet.

Harley Walker: "You know me?"

Sylvester Mango: "Oh… more than that, Mr. Walker. I want to represent you."

Harley Walker: "Alright listen. I'm trying to finish my breakfast and I've had a serious case of the runs since yesterday. I ain't got time for this."

Sylvester Mango: "That you don't. You've got quite the mess to clean up and a big match to start getting the attention of the people because they, just like Myles Lang, are missing out.

Harley Walker: "Wait, come again on that?"

Sylvester Mango: "Focus on your match. Show a young stud like Adam Ellis that there's a new cowboy in town that can run the gambit just as well as someone who's had a wrestling coach up their ass their entire life. After 44, come meet me at Sandy's Bar - right outside of the arena. I'll be expecting you.

[Click.]

Harley tries not to think about the call. Instead, he tosses a bunch of money on the bed where Yasmine is still sitting just as confused as she was before. He picks up his clothes, walks over to the door, and uses his cowboy hat to cover his valuables. As he opens the door, he says a couple of final words to Yasmine.

Harley Walker: "I don't expect you to understand what happened. I don't either. Just know that as things start to unblurrify,, just know that I apologize and I hope that… [Harley points at the money.]..."helps some of the memories disappear. Evenin' ma'am."

And with that, Harley waddles his naked ass out of the room and, being the gentlemen that he is, closes the mess behind him like another windy gust of the past.