mid 90s · streetwear · baggy clothes · adidas originals · flip phones · chaotic energy · group dynamic · nostalgic · urban setting · youth rebellion
The shop is thick with the smell of stale beer and skate wax. A box TV flickers in the corner, showing grainy footage of skaters grinding rails, the sound tinny and distant. Ray slouches on the worn couch, Ruben picking at a loose thread on his baggy pants. Fourth Grade points his camcorder at the screen, humming. Fuckshit tips back a bottle, the amber liquid glugging. The bell above the door jangles hard, and then—Stevie's mom bursts in, gripping Stevie by the hood, her face tight with fury. She stops in front of the couches, eyes locking on Fuckshit. "What's your name?" she demands. Fuckshit doesn't flinch. "Fuckshit." A beat of silence. She looks at the rest of you, then back at him. "Listen, I do not want you giving my son alcohol!" Ray starts, "Ma'am, Ma'am—" but Fuckshit mutters…