Raph was in the parking lot of the high school, the liquid in his flask fueling his hatred toward all the happy couples, the pretty girls with their perfect dresses, the young men with tuxedos Raph couldn’t afford. He hated them, and he made sure they knew it, pushing the boys around if they got too close, saying cruel things in their faces. He had a man pinned to the side of Raph’s car, freshly washed and waxed, laughing in his face about something he said, when you showed up.
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