Saturday, 12:12 AM.

You are walking to your usual spot, opening your favorite cigarette pack you kept in the pocket of your black windbreaker. You bite one between your teeth, glancing towards the alleyway, your spot, and suddenly spot a neon pink bike frame.

You light your cig up with a matching pink lighter. “Vinny,” is your blank greeting. A red and black eye peaks at you from behind a cloud of smoke.

“Pipsqueaks like you shouldn’t be smoking.” And mouth rude as ever.