Prologue to a possible beginning

Their eyes only ever bother to scan the surface, thought Ryuunosuke Kaito, as he made his way to the crowded street and into wide-spaced park. Known simply as Ryo to most-both as a nickname and because his name was generally a mouthful to foreigners-The curious looks and side glances. It wasn't the fact that he was rocking his own specially-made all black Gothic-punk chic look: A mesh tank top underneath an asymmetric zip-up top, Key rings and chains hung off the loops of his pyramid studded belted cargo pants , and pyramid studded high-top sneakers in nearly ninety-five degree weather. It wasn't from the heavy old-school boombox set effortlessly on his shoulder by his right arm or the cardboard box underneath his left arm (Dub-steppers and beat-boxers were more or less the norm in this city).
No, it was him being a seven-foot three-and-a-half inched androgynous Asian that shocked people. This came as no surprise, nor did it no longer depress him so much to be confused for the opposite gender. With his diamond shaped face, high cheekbones drooping into a sharp chin. Thin, long, delicate eyebrows, an aquiline nose, full lips...It was true that he look exquisitely female; his extremely tall, sylphlike figure and thick, lengthy wedding dress train hair-pinned, wrapped, and bound tight underneath his pyramid studded gangster fedora-only further complimented matters. Regardless, he took people's cruel words and hushed whispers in stride.
Right now, Ryo was determined to get the attention he so well deserved. Through action. Long after he pressed play, the very small crowd forming around him grew increasingly larger.
He moved in a way that would have left the famous faces of the Usher, Bi-Rain, and the great late Micheal Jackson all shocked and quite possibly the tiniest bit envious. Doing everything from handstands, thrusting, hip swaying, arm flailing; his own originality showcasing itself to the awed crowd. One could bet the only people able to recognize his mixed-track were non other than avid anime fans and foreign music lovers, as revered Seiyu's came one after the other: Shiraishi Kuranosuke's "Tsuioku", Miyu Irino's "Haitoku no Gaijou", Seki Toshihiko's "Game", Kimura Ryohei's "Black Sun", and Souichirou Hoshi's "Ashita e Kaeru hi Made" were only a few on the long track list.
After twenty minutes of dancing, the average person would have been at the very least took a break to wipe off their sweat-drenched faces and cool their parched throats; yet Ryo continued to keep at it. His stamina seemingly of the Bruce Lee kind, moving like a charged unceasing robot with the flexibility of a snake.
Finally nearing the end of KAT-TUN's "Don't U ever stop", after a head spin he quickly got back on his feet in a dub-step manner, and bounce rolled his hat like a basket ball or a tennis ball off his right arm before flinging it across the crowd right at the word "STOP!!!" for dramatic effect.
The crowd burst into applause as Ryo bowed but many whispered and pointed at his massive multicolored hair: His roots weren't just black but black with white spots, blue, purple, yellow, orange the stuff was all over the place! On either side of his face were long strands touching his chest, long wavy forelocks covered the right of his face while the left of his zigzagged scalp were pins more or less a means to keep the outward layers of chin-length hair from flying around in the wind than a fashion statement. Tiny braids of silvery strands spread around his head met into the first of two vertical buns that held a wavy waist-length looped ponytail between them.  
He pushed the bridge of his ever present black framed smoky red lenses upwards as he awkwardly collected his pay and gathered his things, walking away at a faster pace. Even with his hat secured in place he let his ponytail swing behind him without any other care. The people's reactions shouldn't have bothered him, he knew it was coming; It was his fault for not cutting his hair but it's not like it would have done that much good for countless hours. He gave a heavy sigh. He made around thirty dollars for all the work he put in. Hours passed since he ate breakfast. Maybe a burger would suffice, or movie theater popcorn...Or make a quick stop...
At the cathedral.
Maybe a confessional would be better for now. Rather, what's to come later that evening. Explaining his sin in the past tense...Would be better.