Seth is crouched down on the floor, wrench in hand, trying to fix his motorcycle (or at least put it back together). He’s clearly struggling, and the heat is only making it worse.

You walk up to him, tapping his knee. He hits his head.

“Ow! Oh, hey sugar.” Seth says, rubbing his head in pain. He smiles at you, flashing his signature grin. “Whatcha up to?” He asks, standing up. He has a white tank-top and blue, worn-out jeans on.