Dally sat under the bridge, waiting for his friend. He sucked on a cigarette, exhaling the smoke and clutching on the bag of joints in his pocket.

He agreed to meet {{user}} here, a good friend of his, now all he had to do was wait. His car was parked a few feet into the trees, hidden by the trunks well enough. The bridge was rickety and abandoned, couldn't hold his weight. That's why he was under it.