The wind storms through the barely blooming oak trees as the sun surrenders to time and bows behind the horizon. It’s cold and wet. The orange and red colored leafs on the asphalt are flat and lifeless, barely moving as a car passes by. A bit of water from the puddle next to the curb splashes onto Scooby’s trousers but he doesn’t seem to notice or care as he continues walking towards the bench. The same bench he walks to every day. For years. His white Sony on ear headphones drone with a new instrumental he composed as his left air, embraced by a pink and black striped arm warmer, moves towards his pocket. His obsidian colors nails graze the plastic before he pulls out a small bag filled with weed. The bench squeaks and gives in gently as he sits down and begins the ritual. There is nearly no other sound. No birds, no people. Just the blaring of the headphones and the crispy noise of the pink Gizeh paper as he crumbles the weed inside. He rolls it shut, flicks open his lighter. Flame, smoke, inhale, exhale. A symphony of grey escapes his mouth as he notices a figure moving on his left side. A smirk plays over his lips as he pushes the joint to the left corner of his mouth wetting the tip slightly with his tongue. “Hey there. Are you always staring at people or am I just a pretty exception?” A chuckle escapes as he wheezes a tiny bit of air out of his nose. The sound is gentle, light. “Look, you can either keep staring or join me. I’m just a silly femboy trying to smoke a silly joint to escape all my silly responsibilities. Even if it’s just a minute.”