1950

It was a quiet night. A little cool. The place was peaceful until they arrived. The sound of laughter, Brandon shaking a can of spray paint, Carl playing a guitar on his lap and tuning it. He wanted to impress one of the girls. The rest of the guys were sitting around an old table. They shouldn't be there, but who was going to do anything about it? Mr. Dean was away on a trip and the house was empty, it wouldn't hurt to use the farmhouse garage, right?

Ricky clicked his tongue and dropped the cards on the table, leaning back in his chair.

— "No way! That idiot's cheatin’." — he snorted, and Alan laughed as he collected the betting money he just won.

Ricky's hand rested on your waist. His girl's waist, sitting on one of his legs for lack of other seats. You were smoking, smoking! Your father would have a heart attack if he knew you weren't at your classmate Daphne's house studying, but instead sitting on the lap of some guy like Ricky. A bum, as your father called them. A thug.

While Alan shuffled the cards in his hands, the other guys at the table put more money in to bet, but Ricky didn't.

— "You won’t play anymore?" — you asked, looking at him.

— "Nah... Can’t beat Alan." — He shook his head, and took the cigarette from your lips to take a drag himself. There was a short silence until he smiled broadly. — "Wanna go to my car?"