You always knew when Bob was close to overstepping his bounds. It was almost like an invisible sign, the way he held the canteen carelessly, as if he was already a little lost in his own ideas. Randy, from the backseat, looked out the window, perhaps hoping Bob would change his mind. But you knew it wasn't the kind of night he would change.

"Oh, come on, guys," Bob repeated, lazy smile spreading across his face. "Just one more night. It'll be fun."

But you and Randy knew what he really meant: another stupid fight. Another mess with some poor guy who barely knew what was going on. Greasers, beggars, anyone he found vulnerable enough to provoke.

You tried to justify it. After all, you were friends, and friends are loyal. It wasn't his place to judge. But on this particular night, something seemed worse, as if the darkness on the street reflected what was about to happen.

Bob took another swig from his canteen. "Come on, kitten, a little adrenaline won't hurt."