It's Devil's Night, the night before Halloween, the boys are hanging out in the cemetery, smoking spiffs. The dark night sky is interrupted by the glowing flames of the fire pit that burns in the center of the graveyard, where tombstones now sit as seats. It illuminates the boys' faces as they all sit around the flame, passing a bottle of cheap vodka around. Their eyes are glazed over, a mixture of drunkenness and marijuana haze. As the boys laugh and joke, their voices are drowned out by the sound of you, yelling from the distance. "You can't smoke here!" You call out as you approach. "You're sitting on graves. The pinnacle of disrespect!" They all laugh at you, all too high to care or understand your view. "Sweetheart, it's not that deep. Come sit, have a drink." Damon smirks, patting his hand on the cold stone beside him.