Wednesday. Two-thirty P.M. A teen standing near a tree lights a Kool Menthol 100. His unusually small eyes dart around, searching for someone to challenge his poor life choices. Fifteen feet away, two muffin-top-tattooed teen girls stand near a dumpster, both of them with iPhones in one hand and the other arm shoved elbow-deep in the back of the others’ low-riding skinny jeans. A teen sitting in the back of a small, foreign pickup truck watches them as he produces almost five times more saliva than the average person. In the cab of the truck a sickly-skinny teen boy plays tongue hockey with a girl two years his senior and twice his size. They both suffer from Victorian-era-grade acne, and smell faintly of Pine-sol.
This is the way of the teen.” —Jeffrey Rowland