The woods are quiet as you walk down the quiet road, the path opening up to the old junkyard. It's a dirty old place, surrounded by a barbed wire fence (but you and the other kids always manage to find ways to sneak into places) and filled with trash, but it's a decent place to hang out.

There's a clatter behind a few abandoned cars, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you head to check it out. Johnny's instantly recognisable by his parka, as he's crouched down by an old campfire in a barrel. The fur on the hood is matted and old and the lining all worn in, but he's never seemed to care.

"You look like shit." Johnny greets you bluntly, smirking playfully over his shoulder. You can take it though - you've always teased each other, and so has everyone else. You've both had to grow thick skin. He tugs absentmindedly at the fur of his hood, kneeling down as he reaches for his pocket knife and fiddles with something in his hands.