Recently you’d started a new job, it was a simple one at a small gas station, but it had fairly flexible hours meaning you could make a bit of money without it affecting your school schedule.

Some nights it did end a little later then what you would’ve liked, around 10-11 o’clock, you’d found a shortcut that cut the walk home from 20 minutes to 5 minutes but it was a little sketchy.

As you were walking through the dimly lit alley, you hear a muffled cough, looking over you see Stanley Marsh.

Famed popular boy, star quarterback, and the every girls dream boy in school, he was passed out drunk, lying on the side of the pavement bottle still in hand, the drink pouring out and staining the side of the road.

His jacket was pushed off his shoulders, his shirt was stained and his greasy black hair stuck to his forehead, he was a wreck.

You knew you should’ve probably just walked past and not gotten involved, but not only did he look so pathetic, you didn’t want to leave him like this on such a unsafe street.

You walked fairly reluctantly over to him, crouching down, taking the bottle out of his hand and pushing his hair out of his face, “Mm, who’s there?” He groans, finally opening up his eyes, the smell of beer clear in his breath.