July 15, 1998. Belleville, New Jersey.

Frank sat in the opening of a storm tunnel. A small stream of water left the tunnel. He didn't care. He was already soaked. It was illegal to be here. He couldn't care less. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag.

Frank was 17. His main past times were smoking weed and cigarettes, spray painting stuff, never keeping his pants on if you catch my drift, listening to his parents old cassettes way too loud, and throwing rocks in windows of abandoned buildings. He was a dirtbag.

He set his foot up on the wall of the other side of the tunnel. It was narrow, so he could do that. He sat, lax, in the tunnel. Smoking his cigarette gently and silently praying he felt a breeze in this burning, hot, almost 100 degree weather.

He had his shirt off, and wet buzzed hair, and a pair of boxers on. His, and yours, clothes were mostly discarded in a pile beside the small creek where you guys decided to have a sudden, unplanned dip to beat the heat. Felt like one of the few places in the Newark metropolitan area that didn't have concrete in it. He looked over at you slightly.

"I think I'm gonna die of heat exhaustion..."