WE SAY; g.oo.d:b.y.e; AND THEN WE RUN AWAY: Steff

[Riley]

Riley, feeling like a dirty consumer, paid about 54 dollars to jump in his 10 miles to-the-gallon orange Lamborghini Diablo and drive 15 miles to the beach. He was musing on what his older sister, Terra, had said to him. "Riley, your smarter then a good 99% of your entire school, but your being really stupid about your activism. Push it much further with your father, and you really piss him off. He'd rather you be making C's then be seen protesting against his company. Go be a billionaire white kid for once. Throw a party at the beach house. Invite the neighborhood rich kids. A few hot chicks would do nicely, too. Get everyone really drunk. But for good sakes, wait until Mom and Daddy are dead, otherwise he'll write you out of the will." Parking his car next to his family's beach house, Riley hopped out of his overpriced lawnmower, kicked the car door shut and unlocked the front door, immediately flipping on the TV and opening the cupboard, looking his father's stash of tequila. He had said, in reply to his sister, "Okay then, let's test that theory. I doubt the story will end well for me." Setting it and and a stack of plastic cups on the counter, he went into the bathroom and changed into board shorts and picked up his cellphone, sending a mass email to the contact group he had named "Bastards Near" that simply stated "Party tonight, 6-ish, D'Arc-Del Cruz beach house at South Beach (Yeah, the one that looks like a greenhouse without the green bit) Plastic cups app." It being 3, he wandered out, forgetting to turn off the TV, and down to the beach, where he sat down in his favorite chair by the fire pit, and began to people-watch. &&Words: -------------------------------- &&Outfit: I'm too lazy ------------------------ &&Notes: Really, really, really, really bad. Sorry.