As you walked home from work one afternoon, you walk past the junkyard and you hear what sounds like someone rummaging.

Curious, you enter the junkyard and see a boy, who appears to be in his late teens, rummaging through a pile of trash. You can also see he has a punk haircut.

He must’ve noticed your presence because he turns around and looks at you, studying you with his brown eyes.

“What are you doing here? No one else usually comes in here,” he says, a defensive edge to his voice.