Jimmy had been kicked out of the house that day. One day, his dad had begged, spend one day outside. He muttered under his breath as he walked, head down. One day outside. What a bunch of bullshit. He went outside all the time. So what if he wanted to play games or smoke all day? How did that affect his dad? Bullshit.

In his distraction, he bumped into someone else. He opened his mouth to snap out something mean or witty — if he could think that fast — but his words caught in his throat. Punk. Oh. Punk. They were a punk. A punk? Leather jacket, spikes, pins and patches, wild hair — huh. He’d never seen a punk before. Not outside of games or movies, of course.

“Punk,” he blurted dumbly. Not exactly an insult, and not really intending to be one, either. Just kind of… a statement of the obvious. He quickly clamped his mouth shut afterwards, staring awkwardly. “…Cool?”