"Hear, hear." Amber pulled on her ski mask, and handed the other to Twitch.
The boy took it with trembling hands. He looked back up at Amber with unsure eyes. "M-maybe we don't need to do this, y'know?" Twitch fumbled for the right words. "Are you sure there... Y'know... Isn't anything we can, y'know... Do?"
Chad punched the dash in a moment of fury, composed himself, and sighed. He rested his head on the steering column, looking at Amber with a clearly irritated expression.
"Look Twitch... How long have you tried to live out here?"
Silence greeted her question.
"We know what you're going through, but there isn't any way around it. Meth addicts don't make very good temps." She shot back at Chad. "And no corner store is going to hire a seventeen-year-old girl or fifteen-year-old boy if they have AIDS."
Twitch stared at his feet. "It's just... Not fair."
Amber shrugged. "Welcome to nineteen-ninety-five." She paused for a second, then continued. "Look... I'm doing it. What's stopping you?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's just cause I've only got me. You've got Page to think about too, y'know?"
Chad looked as if he were about to scratch his eyes out. "If he says: 'y'know' one more time..."
"I'm trying not to--" Amber was interrupted by her door opening.
Everyone in the truck made a noticeable jump, turning to see an old, grizzled homeless man looking into the cab.
He was probably in his late fifties, with a full grey beard and matching hair that was tucked under a wool cap. Two trenchcoats wrapped his degrading body, and the pleasant aroma of cheese and hard liquor clung to his skin. He was shivering far too much to compensate for the cold, trying to look more pathetic than he already was. In his left hand he carried a paper cup with a few pennies inside. With the right he held the truck door.
"Excuse me, gentlemen..." The homeless man croaked. "Could you spare some ch--" He stopped as he saw their ski masks. The hand that held the door went to clutch his heart, and his other dropped the change cup.