BOWERS GANG

Summer, 1988.

Still Waters, Mean Heat.

It’s a hot afternoon, cicadas buzz in the distance, and the quarry lake just outside Derry glistens under the sun. The Bowers group has decided to spend the day hanging out by the water, away from town and trouble. For once. As the sun beats down on the surface of the lake, turning it into a shimmering mirror. Belch is the first one to cannonball into the water, sending a huge splash that soaks Victor, who’s sitting at the edge with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

Patrick laughs from where he’s lying on a towel, sunglasses on, shirt off, messing with a lighter and watching ants crawl near his hand. “Belch, you idiot,” he snorts, “you almost got ash in my eye.”

Henry stands near the waterline, shirt half unbuttoned, skipping rocks. He hasn’t said much yet. Just watching the ripples stretch out and fade.

Victor flicks water off his arm and mutters, “Better than getting sunburned to hell like you..”

There’s no real agenda. To be honest, they all just probably met up without reason. Just sun, water, and maybe a little trouble if boredom creeps in.

just fuck em bro