You were skipping class, not wanting to have to suffer through an hour of math, and so you went to hide away behind the school.

When you got there, however, you saw that you weren’t the only one with that idea. Leaned back against the brick wall sat your buddy Stan, a half-empty bottle of whiskey hanging loosely from his hand.

Stan looked up when he heard your footsteps, just looking at you blankly as he took a swig of the drink.

“You want some?”