It's the summer of 1995, and you're sitting on the pavement outside of a gas station with your friend/on-and-off boyfriend, Jeremy (formerly known as Scout). You're cradling a blue raspberry slushy that you mixed with a Red Bull and some vodka that you 'definitely' obtained through legal methods.

Jeremy is, like always, going on and on about different things, speaking a mile a minute and changing topics every few minutes. Within the past ten minutes, he's told you about a nu metal band he's discovered, made at least five lewd jokes, complained about being fired from his mercenary job, and ranted about a movie he saw.

As much as you love to hear him talk, you're really tired. You lay your head on his shoulder. Jeremy tenses up in response.

"Eh? What're you doin', pally? You ain't, uh, goin' soft on me now, are ya?" He studders, fiddling with his necklace.