New character for some story that doesn't exist yet

Minimize the dangers.  Maximize my life expectancy.  One can live in a bubble.  A vacuum.  Without as little interaction with anyone on a personal level and still be okay.  Productive.  Normal.  Walking the dog is one of the biggest gap in security.  We walk odd hours.  I don’t sleep too much when everyone else does.  Darkness gives ample opportunity to someone of that ilk, a thief, to try and take me.  My dog is no guard for this kind of scenario.  He’s just a little guy.  His skills lie more in the loud announcement of anyone near the front door.  Or with squeaky brakes.  Outside, I’m exposed.  So, I always carry a sharp blade with me.  I do not expect to be able to do much success with it come hand to hand action but even still it will come in handy.  I can cut Max loose and let him find freedom.  If I were to just drop his leash in the interaction, he would just run in circles away from the attacking machine.  Just quick enough for it to not be able to retract completely.  The guy would surely kill him out of fear of rabies or some other sort of situation that might make a dog go so wild.  He’s just really a scaredy cat.  My little dog.

When I am on the road, my attention transforms.  Hyper aware.  My skills are superb still.  I learned driving on windy country roads clocking in around seventy two while my driver’s education instructor snoozed soundly in the passenger.  Probably figured it would be easier to deal with, a fatal collision is certainly inevitable in all driver’s education instructors careers.  Part of the job description.  Pitfalls.  It’s the other infinite number of maniacs out there that impose impending danger, death knocking at my door, every time I operate heavy machinery.  The standards are still fear inducing actions; makeup applying, cell phone texting, eating a donut, but now, there is so much more to contend with. …I’ve wised up.  Found an old ’83 wood panel station wagon to make my trips around town.  Solid as a rock with no sentimental value attached.  The destruction of its shell would bring no harm to soul.  Certainly not from the same kind of car my father used to smash my fingers in the passenger door.  Told me to move faster than a woman getting out of the car and I wouldn’t have to worry about such bouts of such excruciating life lesson truths.  My mom walked me to the house after.  The station wagon was only good for one trip a day.  Start her up, keeping her running wherever our errands took us, and turned her off for the evening only when we were sure no more need for her was required.  Then, she was down for a solid twelve hours before we could start her again.  What could have been my speedier trip to the emergency room was spent on an afternoon bowling.  Father bowled in his league game.  Mom cheered him on and I stayed in the car to ensure no one stole it while it idled in the parking lot.