Your name is Jake, you are eighteen, and a senior. You wake up, groggy and grumpy, in your hot room. You sweat a little, as you pull on your undershirt and jeans, wiping your forehead with your hand. Your friend, Brandon, lies in his boxers on the ground on top of a sleeping bag. He lazily pushes back his dishevled blonde hair and remains asleep.
You step over him, and go into your yard to grab the paper as you usually do. When you leave the house, you curse, you forgot your shoes. Grumbling, you trudge out into the grass, wet stalks wiping against your bare feet as you walk and pushing up between your toes.
You stop where the paper should be, and, looking down, see what appears to be a squirt gun instead. Not really registering on your half-a-sleep mind, you pick up the gun, and examine it.
It has two settings, it would seem, a shrink and a grow. You rub your chin looking at it.
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