Ricardo's Gym was part of an endangered species these days. It was weird, seeing which businesses were hit hardest by industrialization of society. Everyone knew that family owned restaurants were being replaced by McDonalds and Burger King, and local department stores were falling to Home Depot. But not as many realized that the funeral home industry was being taken over by commercialized centers that shipped out mass produced coffins all across the country. And many didn't know that decent, small gyms were becoming harder and harder to find. Ricardo's Gym was one of those few--Gallows had met the owner, a big Hispanic man who looked as if he knew his way around a gym and used it, frequently. He also seemed like a pretty decent guy, and Gallows was well on his way to becoming a regular.
Gallows was wearing workout shorts and an old white t shirt. His fists were enclosed in training gloves, and he glistened with sweat as he bounced back and forth in front of the punching bag. He had boxed in high school, but ever since his graduation--and Awakening--he had been too busy with his work and his studies to keep up his exercise as much as he would have liked. He finished his flurry of punches and took a step back, breathing heavily. He was more tired than he would have liked to be from that routine, but he was still in pretty good shape--just not as good shape as a seventeen year old who had little to do but exercise or work on the family farm. He supposed that was part of passing thirty. Didn't mean he had to like it, though, or stop working against it.
Wiping his forehead off with a towel, Gallows made his way over to one of the benches nearby and had a seat. He took a long drink from his water bottle, looking around at the other customers at the gym--some of them regulars, some not--as he waited to get his breath back.