#4

 Lux swore and gave Freddie the finger before she turned her back on him. She crossed her arms and watched as one of the other boys in community service evened the paint on a far stretch of wall.
 He took a few steps back to admire his handiwork and gave a satisfied smile to no one in particular. He pulled a cigarette case out of an inner pocket, a pocket of the jeans he wore beneath his jumpsuit. Flipping it open, he extracted a hand-rolled cigarette. He lit it and took a deep breath.
 The boy leaned his roller against the wall and started walking towards them. He paused by the old homeless and fished in one of his pockets for change, letting it slip from his fingers into the copper bowl. “Buy yourself a cold one, man. God knows that’s all I want.”
 The man leaned back and looked at the boy with sagging eyes. “Riddles,” he said. “All you can say are riddles, murk and darkness.” Nonetheless, he smiled pleasantly, glancing down at the change in the bowl as he fiddled with the Walkman he held in his lap.
 The thing suddenly burst into life, blaring a scratchy rendition of Bob Dylan’s “Simple Twist of Fate”, beginning somewhere in the middle.
 “Great song,” the boy said, nodding along with the lyrics. “Mind if I sit?” he asked. “I’m Patrick.” He squatted next to the man and took another long drag from his cigarette. He ghosted the smoke before he finally exhaled it.
 Freddie looked up from his painting, eyebrows furrowed as he sniffed the air. “Is that weed I smell? Lux?”
 “You don’t need to smoke anything, Freds.”
 “The hell I don’t,” he replied, setting his roller down as he approached the pair sitting by the Walkman. “Hey,” he grinned. “Can I bum a hit?”
 “Don’t give it to him,” Lux ordered, storming over to stand in front of Freddie. “He’s in enough trouble.”