The scene opens beneath the Zakim Bridge in Boston, Massachusetts. The year is 2005; the day, Friday, where a young Tony Sullivan (the real surname of Tony Santos) can be seen sitting against a large steel beam, a lit cigarette in his mouth, head tilted to his right. The Charles River, famously known for its notoriously filthy water, is off in the distance. Surrounding Tony is Bunker Hill Community College, the always popular Museum of Science, and the Fleet Center (now known as the TD Garden, which is famous for its main two tenants, the Boston Bruins and the Boston Celtics) is behind him.

Tony, sitting on the gravel in jeans, a plain, gray hoodie, and some tattered, black New Balance sneakers, looks like your typical young punk who's cut class on a Friday to smoke Parliaments and feel like he's more important than he truly is, and, well, that's just what Tony was looking to accomplish, coincidentally enough. Sitting by his lonesome, it's a cold, Boston morning. The sky is gray and cloudy, the wind is traveling at a decent pace, and the temperature is in the low 50s. However, Tony doesn't seem to care. He's cut class and hopped on the Commuter Rail from his home in Dedham, Massachusetts, all the way to downtown Boston, where he'd get to bunk with his quasi-grandparents in Somerville, do whatever he pleased, and most importantly, where he wouldn't have to see that pesky family of his.

As Tony reaches the end of his cigarette, the sound of tires crunching the gravel can be heard in the background. An old, clunker of a truck makes its way toward Tony, seemingly having no muffler. Megadeth's "Moto Psycho" can be heard from the inside of the car. The truck quickly makes its way up to Tony, then awkwardly slides to a stop, as the locked tires grind in to the gravel. The music continues for another minute or so before the truck is shut off.

Tony looks over at the truck, which is sitting to his left, and he smiles. He yanks another Parliament from the pack in his right pocket, pulls out his lighter, and lights up another cancer stick.

The occupants in the truck whip open the two rusty, red doors simultaneously, while the kids in the truck bed jump out at the same time as well, as if on cue during a Chevy commercial, if that Chevy commercial involved a really terrible, decade old Chevy Tahoe. The kids, five in all, range from 15 - 18. All delinquents, four were cutting class from their respective high schools in the Boston area, while the fifth, a kid by the name of Wally, had recently freed himself from the shackles of public education, dropping out three months ago, only a week after starting his senior year in high school. Having just turned 18 on September 10th, he'd been given the official green light of adulthood to make his own choices, so, for a kid with little to look forward to besides bribing some 21+ to buy him booze on a random weeknight outside a local liquor store, dropping out just made sense.

Wally, the one driving the truck (not his truck, mind you, but one that he had stolen from his mother's current flavor of the week, a boyfriend a little more than half her age), walks up to Tony with the others following.

Wally: Tony motherfucking Sullivan. What ya doin' out here at this time o' day on a Friday?

Santos (Sullivan): We were talking about meeting here yesterday, Wally...

Wally: Yeah, but I didn't expect you to actually show up. Don't you have school and some shit?

Santos (Sullivan): Dude, you know I take Fridays off pretty much every week. That's usually when the rents have pissed me off enough that I just gotta get out of Dedham. That place is a shit hole, man. Nothin' to do out in the 'burbs.

Tony pauses, looks at the truck and the kids that were packed in it like a bunch of sardines, that looks down the gravel path that they made their way down. He frowns, then looks back at Wally.

Santos (Sullivan): Wait, how the hell did you get your truck down here? This area's closed off for cars and people.

Wally: Heh, all of those school smarts of yours don't seem to be paying off. What the hell do you think I did? I blew through the no trespassing sign. The thing's a crappy piece of wood anyways. Wasn't exactly difficult.

Tony shrugs it off, then hands Wally a cigarette. They make their way back to the steel beam that Tony had been sitting against, then plop themselves down on the ground, the others following suit. Tony, now laying on his back, his short, brown hair providing little protection for his head against the cold ground, he stares at the sky, cherishing the peace and quiet, the quiet, calm plumes of smoke coming from his mouth.

Wally and company, having spent the next few minutes bullshitting with one another about their recent hijinks, as well as those they planned to commit this coming weekend, ask Tony a question, only to receive no response. Tony, still laying on his back, still enjoying his cigarette, still off in his own world, all of a sudden feels a harsh thud against his left rib cage. It was Wally, jamming his black combat boot into Tony's side to get his attention.

Wally: Sully! Hey! Wake up! Are you comin' out with us tonight or not?

Santos (Sullivan): You know I don't like being called Sully. Anyways, I can't make it out tonight. Seeing the grandparents in Somerville.

Wally: The grandparents? In Somerville? Wait, these aren't even your folks. Aren't they just those randos that you met like a year ago?

Santos (Sullivan): Since I was practically in diapers, kid. Plus, we've got a mean boccee series goin' on. I'm whipping some serious senior citizen ass.

Wally: You sleepin' with 'em too?

Tony jolts his head to his left at Wally, a disgusted look on his face. He briefly picks himself up to punch Wally in the right man-boob.

Santos (Sullivan): What the fuck, Wally? That'd be like you banging your mom, but, well, you're probably just the right age for her.

Wally: Hey! Sick bastard, shut your mouth. My mom's a wonderful woman, she just, um, has weird taste in men.

Santos (Sullivan): Alright, alright.

Tony, a bit tired of the back and forth, lifts himself to his feet. He lifts himself up to the ledge on the steel beam, which is only another three feet off the ground, and leans against it. Looking out at the Charles, left hand in his pocket, right holding his cigarette, he just lets his head rest. Wally, sensing that Tony's a bit off, walks up to him and does the only logical thing that a high school-age kid would do to snap his friend out of a funk: he punches him hard in the gut.

Wally: What the hell's wrong with you, Santos? You thinkin' about homework or girls or some other shit?

Santos (Sullivan): Yeah, I'm thinkin' about homework as I'm sitting here with a high school drop-out, while not in school. You're really fucking dense, Wally. Maybe that's why I like hanging out with you so god damn much. I can feel really fucking smart without having to actually put in the effort for the rest of the week. Or maybe it's just because I'm hoping to bone your mom one of these days...

Wally strikes Tony with a glare, clearly disapproving. However, even an idiot like Wally knew never to truly provoke Sullivan. Sullivan was a closet case who was just fine knocking some sense into anyone who provoked him, via his fist, even close friends and (not so surprisingly, family).

Santos (Sullivan): But seriously, I'm thinking about all of this. Us. What's the point of all of this shit? We sit here, under this god damn bridge, outside of liquor stores, in alleys, and for what? We booze up, cause problems, and for what? There's gotta be some finish line here. Like, you, Wally, what the hell do you plan on doing now that you're outta school? You can work at a damned pizza place for the rest of your life. You'll be scraping pennies off of the damn pavement to support your five bastard children.

Me? I'll be a fucking pool cleaner or doing HVAC for the rest of my fucking life. Like, what the fuck?

Tony takes a final, desperate drag of a cigarette that is clearly done, but which he really doesn't want to be. He inhales, only to have the filter burn his top lip. He cringes and chucks the cigarette at the ground, holding his burnt lip.

Santos (Sullivan): Or I'll just fucking burn myself. Fucking shit.

See, Wally? This is what's gonna happen to us. We're all gonna get burned in this fucking life of ours. What I've learned during these 17 years of mine on this earth is, fuck 'em. Everyone's here to fuck ya as hard as humanly possible. Some will give you a quick one and done, while others will spread it out over time. This is why I say, fuck it. Fuck school. Fuck people. Fuck us. We have no damn purpose, and no one's gonna give us a fuckin' chance. Fuck 'em.

Wally: So... are you sayin' that you wanna get drunk?

Santos (Sullivan): Yeah, basically.

Tony, Wally, and company get off of their respective perches, making their way to Wally's truck. Just as they're moseying on over to the truck, another member of the group, affectionately nicknamed "Pig" looks down at the gravel and notices a crucifix on the ground.

Pig: Hey, Sullivan, look here. Maybe this is it. A sign, dude. Maybe you should become a priest or some shit. Get with God. Could be your calling.

Santos (Sullivan): I don't preach bullshit. I'd rather grab a god damn drink.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion