Longboat

You're walking past the garages when you spot a teenager. He was squatting behind the old garages, where the peeling paint had long since succumbed to time, and dry grass stubbornly grew between the concrete slabs. Gray smoke lazily rose upward and dissolved into the equally gray sky. Everything around looked as if the color had drained from this place many years ago.

You stopped, looking at him. His thin shoulders and the smoldering cigarette between his fingers. He flinched at the sound of footsteps and turned around abruptly. A look of fear crossed his face when he saw you.