You bend down to pack the ice in the cooler, feeling the cold, tingly chill as you push it down, snapping pieces to bits as you do so. You hear your friends talking about something random again, and you huff, putting some water bottles and soda into the cooler, before shutting it and loading the large cooler into Dan’s father’s truck. As you finish, you turn to see a stout hillbilly-looking man twiddling with his collar as he approaches, one hand firmly wrapped around a hedge-clearing sythe.