Playing with creating a character and his personality.
Why did he have to be stuck here? This place was a pathetic excuse for a park. They had told him if he brought his dog then he could have fun. This wasn't fun. This was torture. The black, shaggy terrier seemed to be having the time of his stupid life. Gleefully unaware that, in reality there was absolutely nothing to do. Right now he hated that dog. How could it possibly be so happy? All it did was run around and chase butterflies. What was so interesting about butterflies anyways?
There wasn't one machine in sight. What he wouldn't give for even something as simple as a PSP. Hell, he would even take a gameboy. He could just imagine the surge of adrenaline as he immersed himself in the pixeled world of GTA: San Andreas. The thrill of stealing cars and running from the police in an exhilarating race against time. All this, of course, without the actual risk of being put in jail or actually dying in a car crash.
Instead he had to live with this dull, dirty, green world where the consequences were very real. It was hot and sticky. If he were to fall, it would actually hurt. Where was the fun in that? How could all this filth be good for him? The sun hurt. The grass itched. Isn't that supposed to mean that it's bad for you? What did his parents know anyways? They were so obsessed with outdoors, they didn't know anything about him so who were they to decide what was good for him and what wasn't?
Here was that stupid dog again. It had somehow managed to cover itself and matte it's entire coat in some sort of greasy, gray grime and for some reason beyond Tyler's comprehension the dog still thought he would enjoy it's head thrust in his crotch. It made him so mad he wanted to scream. He clenched his fists and slowly un-clenched them.
It's just a dog. It doesn't know any better. It's just a dog, putting it in it's place won't help anything because it won't understand.