We stood on the swings at the top of the hill looking at the roads and houses below. “Got another cigarette?” He shook the box near his ear. 

“Nope.” I felt warm in the clothes I’d stolen from the Goodwill bin that was left outside. My jacket smelt strongly of leather and it reminded me of riding on my Dad’s motorbike when I was twelve. The first bird to awaken chirped in the dull blue light. I felt like we were outside the world like characters in a movie. I slid my cigarette, now just a filter, into the nearly-empty bottle of awful chardonnay we’d been drinking from for the last few minutes. It was the eighth or ninth bottle for the evening. Whenever either of us moved too suddenly, the rusting swing set would creak and puncture the serenity. We tried to stand as still as possible. I looked over to him as he took a photo of the vista with his iPhone. “I’m glad we’re friends,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. What do you wanna do now?” he asked. “The shops don’t open for a few hours.”

“Let’s go to G’s house, sleep for a few hours, then come back.”

“Yeah, don’t really want the party to stop.”

“Word.” I replied