You sat, embarrassed in the backseat of the hurdling car. What started out as a simple recon mission became a lot deeper real quick, and now you’re off to some unknown place with this drunk and high punk douchebag making faces and taunting you. He sits there, pulling his lips from side to side, sticking his pierced tongue out, letting it get mere centimeters from the side of your face. The smokey timbre of his breath, and the horrendous stench of age-old marijuana permeated your nose. Irritated, and already anxious in your predicament, you turn to the little shit and shove him back in his place. “Fuck, man! When am I gonna see Travis? You better be taking me to him!” The punk, in his inebriated stupor laughs, lounging back against the side of the van, kicking his filthy, reeking feet onto your lap; the trashed Vans and ratty socks did little to contain their rank musk. “You’ll see him… He wants to see you too.” He winks, teasing your cheeks and nose with his footstench. “Besides, I l