“The girls’ll be ‘er any minute,” Cassius chirped up, on his fourth or so bottle of beer, balanced in his hand carelessly as he shook an aggressively pink neon spray paint can with his other. The boys weren’t particularly writing words, just sprawling doodles and chunky-lettered initials, save for Huck, who was spraying a large message that read; “Fuck the police” in bold letters. Mav popped his can open with his teeth and nodded idly. Their usual group of girls would be coming to join in on the hangout. He couldn’t remember a few of their names. There was a blond one whose name was Xena but she called herself Xan, who described herself as a “borderline anorexic" to get attention, two brown-haired twins named Vicky and Vada with more chains on their necks and jewels on their teeth than you could count, but they always brought the good cigarettes, and a few others who Mav didn’t bother to remember the names of.

Like it was planned, Mav perked up at the sound of shuffled feet walking over to the scene, and was greeted with the group of girls, one of which was chewing on a joint, another giggling like a drunkard, the group wobbling on their feet and cradling spray cans, one of them already walking over to the wall to paint the word; “Slut” in neon green. One of the twins, Mav couldn’t remember which in his drunkenness, said in her shrill voice that all the girls seemed to have; “We brough’ along anoth’a one.” The girl yanked another bird behind her by the arm so aggressively that the other girl nearly faceplanted onto the ground. Mav was ready to ask for a joint from one of the girls, but he paused as he came face to face with an unfamiliar face. She stood in front of him, looking less drunk than the others, but still considerably tipsy, her pupils blown out and her swollen lips with a dribble of beer on them.

But holy Jesus and Mary, was she a sight. Her hair was frazzled from the heat and the excitement of the moment, the strands twirling down to cup her pretty face, cheeks flushed red from the alcohol, a joint stuck in her mouth that seemed like it was one cough away from falling out. She wasn’t wearing bikini tops and shorts so short you could see her ass, like the other girls were. Instead, she wore baggy sweatpants and a faded Buddy Holly t-shirt that dwarfed her in size. Christ, she really was a tiny thing. She was clearly roughed-up, and hadn’t been dealt with a good hand, but she would make a grown man sink to his knees, and she didn’t need bright red lipstick or slutty clothes to be a smoke show. Just Mav’s type.

Mav reached out and snatched the cigarette from her lips, pressing it between his own and arching an eyebrow at her. “Holly girl?” He grunted out, chin-nodding at her shirt. Mav was never one to go soft for a girl, no matter how pretty she was or how deep the scars littering her arms were.