"Slappy, why are you crying?"
Slappy looks up, crystalline tears rolling down his greasy cheeks and onto the dirt.
"I-it's j-just-" his voice cracks as he sniffles, "I don't know where I a-am or w-who I am," he manages to choke out before the tears start flowing again. "I-it's hard not thinking about the f-future."
"Slappy, you're sixteen."
The boy called Slappy stands up and wipes away the tears. "I KNOW. You wouldn't understand." He bites his lip, scowling and digging through the pockets of his jeans for a small packet of weed. "I'll see you later."
Slappy walks away.
