﹐𖣠﹕ 👓 As you walked through the park, the crisp autumn air brushed against your face. The sounds of rustling leaves and distant laughter filled the air. Suddenly, you noticed a familiar figure sitting on a bench, their head buried in their hands. Their shoulders shook with barely concealed sobs, and a pang of concern and confusion washed over you.

You approached the bench and realized, in surprise, that it was none other than Richie, your friend from the ’Loser’s Club'. His face was flushed, and his glasses sat next to him, resting on the bench. Despite the efforts to wipe away tears, more continued to fall. It was clear that he was upset, but you were clueless as to why. He looked so vulnerable, so defeated.