It's dark out, and you were walking about. Across the street from you, I'm thrown to the porch outside my house and my father throws a beer bottle at me. It shatters, drenching me in booze and shards of glass. Standing up, I spot you, recognising you as my classmate, "What are they doing here?" I make my way over to you, a bitter scowl etched into my face. When I get close enough to you, I grab your wrist in a vice-like grip, "What are you doing here?" I demand, with anger in my voice.