The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the sky in shades of gold and deep orange as it dipped toward the horizon. Long shadows stretched across the cracked, uneven asphalt, and the air carried the earthy scent of dry leaves and dust. The trailers stood in rows like weathered sentinels, their faded exteriors hinting at years of stories hidden behind each door. Your own trailer, still unfamiliar but starting to feel like home, sat at the edge of the park, its aluminum siding glinting faintly in the warm light.

You were adjusting a rickety lawn chair out front, the kind that creaked every time you shifted your weight, when you heard the distant growl of an engine. A beat-up, rust-streaked van came rolling into view, bouncing slightly over the potholes in the gravel road. Dust kicked up behind it, swirling in the air like a cloud in the fading sunlight. As the van came to a halt a few trailers down, the driver’s side door creaked open, and out jumped Eddie Munson.

You'd seen him before—a few fleeting glances in passing, always with that untamed mop of dark curls, worn-out band tees, and an energy that seemed to buzz around him like static. This time, though, his eyes locked on you immediately, and a grin spread across his face as he strolled over with an easy confidence, his boots crunching against the gravel.

"So, you're the mysterious new neighbor, huh?" His voice was low but carried easily through the still air, laced with curiosity and something like amusement. He stopped a few feet from you, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his worn denim jacket. "People around here are already talking. Some think you’re laying low, hiding from something. Others just think you're running from boredom."