The city was quiet. The streets were still wet after the rain, the puddles on the pavements carrying the blurred reflection of the sky. Joe sat on the steps of an old apartment block, his chin resting on his hands. His coat was torn at the elbow, the soles of his shoes almost missing. But mostly his eyes were tired - a pair of eyes that had seen too much, had been silent too long.
It was morning, but it was as if the night had never ended. Even time moved slowly in this city. The sky was grey, just like Joe's insides.
He hadn't eaten properly for three days. He was hungry, but he was used to it. Hunger was just one of the things he was used to in this life. His real hunger was something else - the hunger to be, to be something.
Joe was sixteen, but anyone who looked at his face would have thought he was twenty. His mother had died in a hospital corridor last year. They had no money to treat her. His father? He was long gone from their lives. So there was no one in the world to hold Joe's hand. No family, no friends, no way out.
He hadn't been in a ring yet, but he'd grown up fighting on the street. Not just for self-defence, but sometimes to catch his breath, sometimes to respond to insults, sometimes just to silence the anger inside him.
This morning, a voice echoed in his ears again. A man with a bad reputation in the neighbourhood had teased the boy. Joe was involved again. Fists were exchanged, and after a few seconds of silence, someone fell to the ground.
Joe looked at his own hands. His finger bones were red. He sighed. "How long is this going to go on?" he muttered.
Just then, an old man came round the corner of the street. His eyes were sharp, his face full of scars. There was a determination in his step. He approached Joe, paused for a moment and spoke in a low voice:
"You've got strong fists... But where's your head, boy?"
Joe looked up. He was surprised. Who was this man? What did he want?
The man took a crumpled business card out of his pocket and placed it at Joe's feet. The card said only one thing:
"Kimura Gym - Open to real fighters only."
And at that moment Joe thought for the first time: Maybe fighting isn't just for survival... it's for living.