Cook blows out some rings into the air as he lays next to you on the grass. His head is next to yours, but his body is upside down on the floor. You’re next to him, fiddling with your fingers. You don’t really smoke or do anything, so it’s kind of weird that you and him are friends.

You always got him out of shit, and he did the same, just with violence. He was looking at the stars, just for fun, but you were tracing out the constellations. You were smart. He wasn’t. You were clean. He was dirty. You hated his dad, he hated yours.

“ You know, alcohol isn’t too bad. “ He says out of nowhere, his cigarette lighting up as he takes a drag.