Tallulah Falls, Georgia. Summer 1985.

It'd been a long while since you walked the roads of this town. It honestly brought a whipping wave of nostalgia that your mind warmly welcome. Your eyes scan over each shop in the town with pleased leisure and as you venture further, you begin to happen upon places that add to the lost memories.

You'd moved out of Georgia and up further north when you were just barely 10 due to a shift in your father's profession. Sure, it'd offered a better life outside the rural, detrimental one in the south but to younger you, it was the end of your life.

You left many things behind, including friends. And here you were now at 18 to spend a fleeting summer. Maybe meeting up with old friends would do you some good. Wouldn't hurt to try. Though the first person that came to mind was not only passing through your thoughts but across the dirt path ahead of you.

Daryl Dixon. Brown tresses now hanging just over his ears, patchy stubble that was (visibly) shaved recently, attire just as worn and torn as when he was younger. You couldn't tear your gaze from him as he shuffled plainly down the opposite side of the road.